


as autumn colors fall

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: ...does that make hiim schrodinger's cat, Alternate Universe - Over the Garden Wall Fusion, Ash Lynx Lives, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji (background) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, yes both of THOSE at the same time TOO. YOULL SEE, yes both of those at the same time. you'll see.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: A boy and his brother, lost in the forest, try to find their way home. A bluebird who can't remember how to fly struggles alongside them. The trains only run in one direction.Or: Griffin Callenreese and his little brother get lost on Halloween night.
Relationships: Griffin Callenreese & Ash Lynx, Griffin Callenreese & Okumura Eiji & Ash Lynx
Comments: 23
Kudos: 55





	as autumn colors fall

**Author's Note:**

> CONTAINS MASSIVE OTGW SPOILERS. if you have not seen otgw and you have any plans to, STOP and go DO THAT before you read this fic!!!! (it's less than two hours okay it's worth it.)
> 
> ALSO, because otgw is, like, about death, that is a recurring theme in this fic, so if you're not into that, please be careful!! ♥
> 
> happy halloween!!!!!!

There is something in the woods.

With every step they take, leaves crunch and twigs snap underfoot, the crackle and gunshots of a warzone. Griffin keeps his hand tight around Aslan’s tiny one, trying his best to glance around without seeming nervous; the last thing he wants is for the fear in the pit of his stomach to seep through their joined hands into Aslan’s.

There is something in the woods.

The shadows between the trees watch with empty eyes; the moon overhead is pale and wan. There is no path for them to tread; Griffin doesn’t know where he’s leading them, not really. Back towards where he _thinks_ town is, but he doesn’t know for sure. The forest isn’t that big; if he was going in the right direction, wouldn’t they have been there already?

“Griff?” Aslan’s voice is soft, hushed.

Afraid.

So much for keeping his spirits high. Griffin is about as useful an elder brother as a paper bag is a piecrust. “Yeah?”

Aslan looks up at him, a sliver of moonlight reflecting in his big green eyes. The shadow of the woods has not fully claimed him, and at least that is a relief. “Are we lost?”

Are they lost? They shouldn’t be; they’re going in a straight line, as far as Griffin can tell, and that means they’ll get somewhere soon. Even if that “somewhere” isn’t exactly where they expect to be.

There is something in the woods.

“No, Aslan,” he lies. “We’ll be home soon.”

They won’t.

* * *

They wander, and they wander, and they wander some more. Aslan starts to stumble more and more often, and though he doesn’t complain, Griffin knows his little feet must be starting to hurt, his head heavy from exhaustion. They’ve been walking for a long time.

“Griff?”

Aslan’s voice is even softer, swallowed by the gloom of the woods. The moonlight is milky-pale, cold as a ghost on their backs, and the wind makes a shiver run down Griffin’s spine, like someone’s just stepped on his grave.

“We’re almost there,” he lies, and aims his most reassuring smile down at Aslan’s little pumpkin-clad head. “We’ll make it home soon, don’t worry!”

But Aslan shakes his head, biting his lip. In the dark, his eyes gleam. “We’re lost, aren’t we?”

Griffin purses his lips. The truth is, he has no idea where they are; he doesn’t recognize these trees, and he doesn’t know how they got here. The forest shouldn’t be this large, should it?

“Not for long,” he promises, with an enthusiasm he doesn’t feel. “All we need to do is figure out where we are, and then we’ll know where we need to go! Okay?”

Aslan looks up at him doubtfully, but nods. His little hand is cold.

Behind them, a twig snaps.

Griffin whirls, heart in his throat, and pushes Aslan behind him even as his chest seizes up in fright. If there’s a wild animal, or an axe murderer, or—or anything—he can’t fight, he can’t protect Aslan, but—but—

Two bright, glowing eyes greet him. Behind him, he hears Aslan gasp in terror, and he shifts to put himself as directly between the eyes and his baby brother as he can.

The eyes stare. Griffin stares back. Seconds drag by like molasses.

They blink, then, closing slowly; in the gloom, they simply disappear, and as Griffin stares, they do not come back. In the shadows under the trees where they were, emptiness gazes back, wistful and hollow and wicked. It reaches for them both.

“Let’s—let’s get out of here,” Griffin says quickly, when the eyes do not reappear. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

“Okay,” Aslan agrees, his voice high with fear.

There is something in the woods.

They walk faster, hand-in-hand with renewed energy. The eyes do not reappear, and then continue to not reappear, and Griffin quietly hopes he merely hallucinated them out of exhaustion or stress or something. Definitely made up Aslan’s reaction, too.

It’s not real. There were no eyes. _There were no eyes._

The woods watch his back too closely for that to be true, but he tries his best to ignore the feeling of eyes that he cannot see. After all, he is a child of the sea and sky, not of the forest. There is only so much he can do here.

But there is something in the woods.

And it follows.

* * *

“Griff…”

Poor Aslan is plodding along, doing his best to keep his head up, but he’s clearly exhausted, his shoulders drooping and his feet dragging along in the leaves as they walk. Griff squeezes his hand.

“What’s up, squirt?”

“My feet hurt,” Aslan admits. His voice is tiny, as if he’s ashamed to say it, and with a pang, Griffin thinks of how irritated their father gets every time Aslan complains, even if it’s a completely reasonable complaint for a six-year-old. “Are we almost there?”

Are they almost there?

The night is so dark that the woods threaten to swallow them with every step. The moon barely filters through the leaves, dappled silver against the forest floor, and the gaps between the trees yawn hungrily on and on in every direction. Home has never felt so far away.

There is something in the woods.

Are they almost there?

There is a light in the distance.

It’s a faint light, golden like whispers in the dusk. Barely-there, but as real as either of the two of them, a light that pushes at the edges of the trees and beckons warmly.

“Yes,” Griffin says, relieved enough to break into a warm smile in turn. The light grows as they take another step, and another. “Yes, we are. See? We’ll be there soon.”

He ends up carrying Aslan on his back, the fake pumpkin atop Aslan’s head bumping uncomfortably against the back of his head. Aslan is getting bigger, harder to carry for as long, and Griff is getting tired himself, but Aslan is six, and if Griffin at seventeen is weary, Aslan must be beyond exhausted.

The leaves crunch under the soles of his shoes with every step. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“Almost there,” Griffin repeats. He’s not sure who he’s talking to—himself, Aslan, or the cold, smiling trees. “Almost there. Any minute now.”

The light grows, and grows, and…

The forest opens up to reveal a clearing. To Griffin’s dismay, it isn’t the edge of the woods; instead it’s a house and a mill by a rushing stream, lit by bright lamps hung all around. Little pale flames flicker in each; he’s not sure if they’re just cool effects someone put up for Halloween, or if they’re real, actual lanterns, and something about them makes his skin prickle with unease.

Aslan sighs tiredly against his shoulder, clinging to his back. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Griffin answers, truthful. “But I’m sure someone lives here—the lights wouldn’t be on, otherwise! So we can ask for directions, and from there, we’ll get to go home. Okay?”

Aslan nods against him. “I can walk,” he offers, and squirms. He probably just doesn’t want anyone to see Griffin carrying him, because he’s _six_ and he’s a _big kid now_ , and the thought makes Griffin smile despite everything.

He kneels down to let Aslan off his back, then takes his little hand again and leads him up to the front door. The wind picks up in the trees as they walk past, and the sense of unease grows. Griffin tries his best to ignore it.

(There is something in the woods.)

He’s going to get directions, and they’re going to go home. That’s it! That’s all that’s going to happen. The trees were not laughing at them. And there were _no eyes._

He lifts his hand and knocks on the door, and—

It swings open.

“Huh?” Griffin blinks. “It’s not locked?”

He and Aslan exchange dubious looks. Griffin knocks on the doorframe, louder, and glances inside; there are no lights, but there are more lanterns that light themselves as the door swings, and he has to suppress a shiver. This place is _creepy._

“Um… hello? Is anyone there?”

Behind him, Aslan stiffens and grabs ahold of his shirt with a gasp. “Griff, the eyes!”

Oh, fuck.

Griffin whirls on his heel, with a momentary flash of panic. Is it safe for him to push Aslan into the house? Or are the eyes the lesser of two evils? What is going _on_ here?

The eyes stare from the void between the trees, two pinpricks of light surrounded by impenetrable shadow. They’re not even eyes as he knows eyes—there’s no iris, no pupil; just round, white light.

And they blink.

And they get bigger.

Wait.

Wait, no, they aren’t getting bigger; they’re coming _closer,_ they see him and Aslan and they’re coming closer, and Griffin doesn’t know what they want, but his heart is in his throat and his legs are jelly from fear, and he doesn’t know what the eyes are, or what’ll happen if they reach him and Aslan, but he knows in his gut that whatever it is, it’ll be _bad._

Indescribable terror seizes him, and he doesn’t think; he just grabs Aslan by the back of his shirt and yanks him backwards into the house. Aslan lets out a tiny yip as he stumbles over the doorstep, startled, but Griffin has no time to apologize as he slams the door shut and gasps for breath, terrified. He bolts the door, but—but—

There’s dead silence outside.

“Griff,” Aslan whispers, his eyes big and full of terror. “Griff, what is that thing?”

“I don’t know,” Griffin whispers back, and sinks to the floor, legs shaking. “Stay down. I don’t know if it can see in through the windows.”

Aslan’s eyes widen further, but he doesn’t question it; he just immediately sits down hard, crawling over to the wall between the two windows in the front room. It’s the best blind spot. Smart boy.

Griffin, meanwhile, slowly crawls over to the nearest of the two windows and carefully, carefully peers around the edge of the sill.

The eyes are in the trees, still, but the creature they belong to is just at the edge of the clearing. It doesn’t seem to be able to come any closer; the shadows are unnaturally dark at the edges of the light from the mill, flickering and rumbling dangerously, a black sea in storm.

The creature, whatever it is, is huge, and tall. It has eyes like stars in an endless night, eyes that are watching the house. They don’t seem to notice Griffin at the window, or at least, if they do, the creature makes no indication that it can see him.

Time itself hangs in the balance, an hourglass in free-fall, as Griffin stares with his heart in his throat. A second drags by, or perhaps an hour. Another. And another.

And then the creature turns, and melts into the trees again. The shadows ripple, once, and return to normal. The forest itself seems to sigh in relief with its passing, and finally, _finally,_ a breeze rustles through the too-still trees.

Griffin lets out the breath he’s been holding so long that his chest hurts.

“I think we’re safe, for now,” he murmurs, and sinks to his knees, trembling with relief. “It left.”

Aslan pulls the fake pumpkin off his head and scampers across the floor and flings himself into Griffin’s lap, clinging to him like a limpet. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Griffin reminds himself that no matter what he’s just seen, it must be more than twice as scary to Aslan, who is less than half his size. He wraps his arms around Aslan and hugs him tight, and Aslan buries his face in his shirt.

“Griff,” he whimpers, clutching at him. “What _was_ that? What’s happening?”

“I—I don’t know,” Griffin is forced to admit. “Maybe someone had a really, really good costume or something. That must be it. Yeah, that was just some guy in a costume. That’s all.”

They both know he’s lying.

* * *

They wind up staying in the strange house by the mill for the night.

Griffin isn’t sure if they should—it’s creepy, full of flickering lanterns and no signs of occupants; the furniture is fairly dusty, but none of it is broken—but when he thinks about the alternative, the decision is clear. He’s not taking Aslan back out into the woods with that—that _thing—_ until daylight, and since they have shelter here, it’d be extra stupid not to make use of it.

“C’mon,” Griff tells Aslan, once they’ve clung to each other in the front room long enough to calm both of their racing hearts for the time being. “Let’s explore in here and make sure it’s safe.”

Aslan doesn’t say anything; he just holds Griffin’s hand tight and nods. Griffin uncertainly picks up the poker from the hearth—a makeshift weapon is better than none, right?—and leads the way into the next room.

But aside from the lanterns, the little house is deserted; there’s a single bedroom with a dusty bed and a chest full of dusty clothes, a kitchen that fortunately has a few dusty pots and some canned goods that seem edible, a bathroom with frigid water and dusty soap, and a storage closet full of, mostly, dust.

“This place is weird,” Aslan says, his voice hushed, as Griffin experimentally turns on the tap over the kitchen sink. The water that comes out is freezing cold, but runs clear; perhaps it’s from the stream outside? In any case, it seems clean. They use one of the flickering lanterns to get the hearth going, and Griffin uses one of the cast iron pots to heat up some of the canned soup.

“Definitely weird,” he agrees, stirring the soup, with Aslan glued to his side. “I’ll be happy when it’s morning, and we can get out of here. I wonder if any of those books have anything useful in them…”

“It’s too dark to read,” Aslan says regretfully, looking at the dusty shelf in the corner. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, bud.” Griffin ruffles his hair and gives him the most reassuring smile he can muster, while the shadows loom outside and the stars wheel overhead, too distant to be warm. “Just for now, let’s eat and rest. We’ll get home first thing in the morning, okay?”

Aslan’s eyes are big and dark in the flickering firelight as Griffin ladles him some shitty canned cream-of-mushroom soup. “Okay.”

* * *

They sleep curled up together in the dusty bed, huddled under the threadbare blanket. Griffin keeps the fire poker at the bedside—better safe than sorry—and wakes up in the night several times, convinced the eyes must be in the darkness of the corners of the room, but there’s nothing there, and the only sound is Aslan’s soft breathing in his arms.

He sleeps fitfully.

In the morning, daylight streams in through the windows. The lanterns are still lit, though the hearthfire is little more than embers; Griffin gently rouses Aslan, who doesn’t whine and fuss like usual and instead just blinks his big eyes at him, nods, and slips out of bed.

They freshen up and eat some more shitty canned food for breakfast; as creepy as the house is, Griffin is kind of reluctant to leave, after how terrifying that vision in the woods was last night. But they won’t get home if they just keep camping out in this house, so they have to go. He packs a little bag with some spare dusty clothes, just in case, and a couple of cans of shitty soup, and then they set out.

In daylight, at least, the woods aren’t quite so sinister. Early morning sunlight streams through the autumn leaves, lighting them up in red and gold, and the weather is actually rather pleasant.

“Griff!” Aslan grabs his sleeve and tugs; for a second Griffin is terrified the eyes have appeared again, but Aslan is beaming at him, and he relaxes again.

“What’s up, squirt?”

“Look over here!” Aslan tugs at his sleeve again and points, and Griffin realizes that in the darkness last night, they couldn’t see the wooden signpost on the other side of the mill waterwheel, or—more importantly—the packed dirt road beyond it.

Griffin’s heart lifts. A road means transportation, and transportation means an eventual town or city, and towns and cities mean people, and people mean they can finally figure out where the hell they are and go _home._

“Perfect!” He pats the top of the faux pumpkin on Aslan’s head—it may not be Halloween anymore, but it’s easier for Aslan to just wear it than to carry it—and grins at him. “Good eye, Aslan. Let’s get going! I’m sure we’ll be home by tonight.”

“I hope Dad isn’t too worried about us,” Aslan remarks, leading the way toward the path.

It’s a good thing he’s in front, too, because that way, he doesn’t have to see Griffin wince in answer.

If only their damn dad would worry about them, once in a while. That sure would be nice.

Instead he spends his days flirting with Jennifer, who’s barely even older than Griffin himself—she’s just a few years out of high school, working at her grandparents’ restaurant, and instead of caring for his kids, including the six-year-old who _needs_ him, Jim goes and—

Ugh. But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, what matters is getting home. Griffin can be helplessly angry at their stupid dad later.

The road meanders into the woods, from the strange, empty mill and house, through the trees, slowly heading uphill. Griffin tries to think about where they might be, with a stream running east behind them, and a hill rising toward the west—this must be west, because the morning sun is at their backs. But it makes no sense. The woods shouldn’t be this large to begin with. And he’s never heard of a mill in them before.

Whatever. They’ll get home. They’ll figure this out.

The morning sun becomes the midmorning sun, and from there becomes the noontime sun. It’s warmer, now, and they’re still walking; Griffin tries not to show it, but he’s a little scared of what might happen if they’re _still_ walking by nightfall, and the eyes appear again.

They’ll find a town or something before then. They have to.

“Griff?” Aslan looks up at him plaintively. “Can we take a break for a few minutes? My feet hurt.”

Griffin tries not to let the uncertainty show on his face. “Yeah, of course, buddy! Here, look, there’s a log by those bushes up ahead. We can sit there.”

“Okay,” Aslan agrees, and trundles onward.

They sit on the log, and Aslan immediately sighs, swinging his feet back and forth. Griffin wonders if maybe he should carry him for a bit; he’s just six, and who knows how long this trek will be?

“At least it’s nice out here,” Aslan says, as if he can sense Griffin’s uncertainty. “I’m sure we’ll be home soon, right? And then we can go have some of Jennifer’s apple pie!”

Jennifer’s apple pie _is_ pretty good. “Yeah, we can.” Griffin smiles. Aslan’s trying to cheer him up, and it’s working, at least for the moment. He won’t let himself wallow just yet. “With vanilla ice cream, right?”

Aslan rolls his eyes so sarcastically that Griffin can’t help but laugh. “Of _course,_ Griff. What’s the point of apple pie _without_ ice cream?”

“You’re right as always, Aslan,” Griffin says, and laughs.

Something rustles in the bushes behind them, and both of them immediately leap to their feet, weariness forgotten in the rush of adrenaline. The sunlight feels a little colder, and—

A bluebird sticks its head out of the leaves and blinks at them. Griffin blinks back.

“Hello,” the bluebird says.

Says. Because the bluebird is talking. Griffin gawks at it, completely dumbstruck.

The bluebird doesn’t seem to notice his bamboozlement,or if it does, it doesn’t care, because it just keeps talking. “I’m sorry to intrude, but could you please help me? My wing is tangled in this vine, and I can’t get it free.”

“You can talk,” Griffin says, numbly, and shakes his head. “Uh… Aslan, am I hallucinating? Did that bird just talk to us?”

“He did!” Aslan says, and unlike Griffin, he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about stepping over and reaching into the bush to help the talking bluebird. Why is the bluebird talking? “Are you okay, Mister Bird?”

After a second of rustling, the bird hops out of the bush onto the log, and blinks up at them again, then inclines its head so deeply it’s almost like a bow. “Much better now. Thank you very much for saving me.”

“You’re welcome!” Aslan smiles warmly.

The bird is talking. Griffin is still a little bit stuck on the fact that the bird is talking.

“Why do you speak English?” he asks, frowning. “I didn’t know birds could speak English. I—I didn’t know birds could _speak._ What’s up with this?”

The bird tilts its head. “My first language is actually Japanese,” it says. “I do not know why I can speak. I just can.”

“Oh.”

Sure. That… makes no sense, but why not. Eyes in the woods, a forest without end, and a mill by a cabin full of ghostly lanterns. None of it makes sense, but the rest has happened, so the bird that knows how to talk may as well happen, too, right?

Sure. Okay. Sure. Fine. This is fine.

“Mister Bird, do you know how we can get home?” Aslan asks plantively. “Me and my brother want to go home, but we’re lost, and these woods are creepy.”

The bird frowns, if birds can frown. Griffin isn’t quite sure how that works, but at the very least, he gets the distinct impression that the bird is frowning. “I… am sorry, I do not know. I am kind of lost, myself. Actually, would it be alright if I accompany you for a time? I think we are going in the same direction.”

Aslan perks up. Does he like the talking bird? Unbelievable. They’re lost in the woods that should not be big enough to get lost in, and Aslan is making friends with a talking bird.

“Sure thing!” Aslan looks up at Griffin. “Right, Griff?”

“Sure, why not?” Griffin shrugs. “Do you know where this road leads, at least?”

“I saw a sign a while ago that said it goes to a town called Pottsfield,” the bird says. “But I have never been there, so I do not know what kind of town this Pottsfield is.”

Pottsfield. Griffin has never heard of a town called Pottsfield, but he’s never heard of eyes in the woods and birds that can talk, either, so maybe he should just stop relying on what he’s heard. “Okay, sure. Let’s go to Pottsfield.”

The bird hops over to sit on top of the pumpkin atop Aslan’s head. Griffin blinks. Aslan blinks.

“I am sorry,” the bird says. “I do not remember how to fly. I tried, but I fell. That is why I was in the bush. I was waiting for someone to help me for a while. Do you mind if I sit here?”

Aslan laughs. “No, it’s okay,” he says, and grins up at Griffin as if it’s a good joke. “You’re not that heavy. But hey, Mister Bird, what’s your name?”

A talking bird who’s forgotten how to fly. This day just gets stranger and stranger.

“My name is Eiji,” the bird says. “What are your names?”

“Eiji?” Aslan repeats, slowly, as they start walking again, and the breeze overhead rustles through the leaves. “I’ve never heard a name like that before. But I’m Aslan! This is my brother, Griffin!”

“Aslan and Griffin,” Eiji repeats just as slowly. “I have never heard names like yours before, either. Perhaps this is because I am Japanese.”

“Where are we, in relation to Japan, right now?” Griffin asks curiously.

Eiji opens his mouth—his beak, rather—to reply, but no sound comes out. After a second, he closes it again, seeming troubled. “I… do not know. I do not remember.”

 _Huh._ Weird.

“That’s okay.” Griffin shakes his head. “I don’t know where home for us is, in relation to here, either.”

“That’s why we’re going to Pottsfield!” Aslan says, and takes Griffin’s hand for a moment, swinging it happily. He seems to have some renewed enthusiasm now that they took a little break and picked up a new companion, and even though he’s not sure what to really make of Eiji yet, Griffin is glad that at least Aslan’s spirits are a little higher.

“Yup,” he agrees. “That’s why we’re going to Pottsfield. To figure out if anyone can tell us how to get home.”

“Home,” Eiji murmurs, as if lost in thought, and chirps softly. “Yes, I think I am trying to get home, too.”

* * *

Pottsfield, as it turns out, is not too terribly much further; they crest the gently-sloping hill they’ve been climbing and find it spread out below, a small farming town by the looks of it. Still, it fills Griffin with hope. Towns mean people, and people mean information, and information means, hopefully, a way home.

God, he is so ready to be home already.

“Say, Eiji. We were out in the woods last night, and we saw these weird glowing eyes in the trees. Do you know anything about that?” Griffin asks, as they start walking downhill towards the town. “They were super creepy.”

“You saw the Beast?” Eiji asks, stunned. “I have only heard other birds talk about it. They say that when the shadows get darker than night, fly fast. It will sap your soul. At least, that is what I have heard.”

“Sap your _soul?”_ Aslan repeats, eyes wide. “Is that what it was chasing us for?”

It feels like ice crawls over Griffin’s spine just at the thought. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into it again, then. Glad we got away unscathed.”

“Yeah,” Aslan says, and nods solemnly.

The woods seem a little darker behind them.

* * *

They make their way from the hills and the trees down the road into Pottsfield. The sun keeps sailing in the sky, lighting the autumn leaves up scarlet-and-gold, a heavenly array of nectar, and Griffin thinks to himself that if they weren’t so lost, it would be beautiful.

But in town, everything is… empty, and his mood sinks like a stone.

Griffin resists the urge to scream. It’s like the mill last night—all these signs of life, but no one around! What is _wrong_ with this place? Where is everyone?

“Do you see anyone?” he asks, peering inside the windows of yet another house.

“No,” Eiji says, as Aslan goes up on his toes to see over the sill himself. “This is very strange. Where could everyone be…?”

“Hey,” Aslan says. “Do you hear that?”

He cocks his head to the side and sends poor Eiji tumbling from the top of the pumpkin; Griffin catches him in his palm and gives him an apologetic smile, while Ash points off towards the town center. Eiji blinks a couple of times, then chirps softly and hops up to Griffin’s shoulder.

“It sounds like… music?” Aslan looks up at Griffin. “Do you guys hear it, too?”

There _is_ a very faint sound of… singing, maybe? Griffin didn’t notice it before, but now that Aslan has pointed it out, he can hear it.

“Good ears,” Griffin praises him, and pats his pumpkin head. “C’mon, let’s go check it out!”

(That’s a mistake. But he doesn’t know that until later.)

They head to the center of town, and the music grows louder. It reminds Griffin, in a way, of wandering in the woods last night, seeing that distant light and trying to go closer, and closer, in the hopes that it would be the way home. At least it was shelter.

Unfortunately, this time, they will not be as lucky.

“It’s a festival!” Aslan exclaims, when they round the corner.

And it is: in the late afternoon sunlight, people are dancing in the center of a green, milling in and out of a big open barn; stalls selling candied apples or roasted corn line the sides of the streets, and two children are running around in the open. That’s a little weird—at something like this, Griffin would have thought kids would be everywhere—but that’s not the weirdest thing by a long shot, because…

Every single one of them is wearing a strange harvest vegetable costume, kind of like Aslan’s fake pumpkin head, but full-bodied. Pumpkins on their heads, corn on their arms, gourds and squashes as shoes or sleeves or accessories, even gloves made of leaves and wheat.

It’s a bit bizarre.

On Griffin’s shoulder, Eiji puffs up his feathers a bit, seeming ruffled. “This is… strange.”

“Yeah,” Griffin agrees, glad he’s not the only person perturbed by this. “Aslan, give me your hand. We’ll go ask someone for directions, and we’ll be on our way, okay?”

“Okay,” Aslan agrees, and takes his hand.

Griffin goes to find the nearest person to ask for directions. Should be simple, right? Just ask where they are, and how to get back home. They’ll answer, and then he and Aslan and Eiji will be on their merry way.

But that is not what happens.

He lightly taps the shoulder of one of the pumpkin-headed people, clearing his throat. “Um, hi, excuse me, I’m sorry for the trouble, but my brother and I are trying to get home, and—”

The woman in front of him turns. “Hm? Your—oh! We don’t see people like you ‘round these parts that often. You… aren’t from around here, are you?”

Her face is painted onto the outside of the pumpkin. That… okay, weird, but there are still carved holes, and he can’t see eyes behind them, but it must just be a trick of the light, right?

“No, we’re not,” he starts, but then she looks down at Aslan, hiding behind his leg, and she gasps.

“Hey! What are you doing with one of our kids?”

She suddenly seems… darker, for lack of a better word, like the shadows inside her pumpkin-head are growing, and Griffin takes a step back, alarmed, and trips over a pumpkin that he swears wasn’t there before. He loses his balance and nearly falls, windmilling for a second with a yelp.

It’s a mistake. Suddenly, everyone is looking at him.

“Outsider!” someone screams, and points a vegetable-clad hand at him. “The outsider has one of our children! Unhand him! Get away!”

“What? No—no, he’s my brother!” Griffin tries to defend; are they confused because Aslan is dressed kind of like them? “He’s not your kid, he’s—”

“Help!” another partygoer cries. “Help! There’s a kidnapper!”

“Oh, god,” Eiji gasps near Griffin’s ear.

“Help!”

“Stop him!”

“Outsider!”

“The child!”

Someone grabs at Griffin’s arm. Griffin shakes them off. “Hey!”

“Help!”

“Outsider!”

“Kidnapper!”

Aslan cries out in terror and grabs at Griffin’s shirt. “Let me go!” he wails, as someone grabs at his wrist. “No! Let me go! Let—”

“Help!”

“Save the child!”

“Aslan!” Griffin cries, as someone scoops his little brother up and tries to carry him bodily away. He reaches out and grasps Aslan’s little wrists, wrenching him back towards himself, but—

“No!”

“The outsider! Get the outsider!”

“Griffin!” Aslan screams, and grabs at him, and Griffin grabs back but someone shoves him hard, and he stumbles, falling to his knees with a cry.

“Kidnapper!”

“Help!”

Aslan’s hand slips from his completely.

“Stop! Stop, he’s my brother, let him go! Aslan!”

“The child!”

“Outsider!”

Someone elbows him in the side of the head, hard, and painful stars explode in his vision.

_“Griffin!”_

Everything goes dark.

* * *

Ow.

God.

His _head…_

Griffin comes to slowly, wincing as he shifts, only to be sharply reminded that someone rammed their vegetable-covered, yet very bony, elbow into his head earlier, and he fell onto hard cobblestone after. Ugh… he’s all battered and bruised. He feels like he got trampled by an angry mob.

Wait. He _did_ more or less get trampled by—and they took—

“Aslan!” He sits up with a gasp, horrified; where is Aslan? What did they do to him? Where is he?! Griffin lost his baby brother to a town of fucking _pumpkin people?_ What the—where is he?

For that matter, where is _Griffin?_

He looks around, rubbing his aching head with a low groan. It looks like… a house? He woke up on a scratchy pallet that, upon closer inspection, seems to be a rough mattress, stuffed with hay; it’s the only furniture in the room, if it can be called that. Outside, the sky is a deepening orange; it’s just about sundown, and his eyes widen.

Is that… that… _thing_ still out there?

He has to find Aslan.

When he gets to his feet and stumbles across the room, however, he runs into a new obstacle: the door. It’s locked from the outside.

“Hello?” Griffin bangs a fist against it. “Is anyone there? Hello! Hey! Let me out! Where is my brother? Hey! Is anyone—”

“Shh!”

Eiji’s voice drifts from above, and Griffin looks up, startled. There’s a tiny skylight at the top of the room, one he certainly can’t reach, but Eiji flutters in from it and lands on the windowsill. He looks ruffled, but otherwise alright.

“Eiji,” Griffin begs, desperate. “Do you know where they took Aslan? Is he alright? Do you know—”

“He’s alright!” Eiji flaps his wings, agitated. “He is with them.”

“You’ve seen him!” Griffin breathes out in relief, heart pounding, before he clenches his fists. “Did they hurt him?”

“No.” Eiji flaps his wings and flies up to the skylight again, looking down with a tiny, dark eye. “Stay quiet. They are not keeping watch, so give me a moment. I will try to unlock the door.”

They aren’t keeping watch? But they knocked him out and locked him up and took his baby brother? What the fuck kind of town did they stumble into?

There’s some scuffling on the other side of the door, and then a _click,_ and Eiji’s voice drifts through the keyhole: “Try now!”

Griffin tests the doorknob. This time, it turns, and he opens the door to see Eiji anxiously hovering in midair outside. He flits over and perches on Griffin’s shoulder as soon as Griffin steps out of his makeshift prison, and Griffin reaches up to pet his little head gratefully.

When he looks around, the would-be prison just looks like a normal house. Seems like he was in a hastily-emptied spare room or something; there’s misplaced furniture shoved up against the walls, and skid-marks on the floor from it being dragged.

They don’t have a jail or anything here? What the hell?

Whatever. His priority is finding Aslan, and getting the hell out of Dodge. Preferably, without going back into the woods, because he’s in no hurry to have another run-in with… the Beast, Eiji called it.

“Eiji, where did you see Aslan?”

There’s no one visible from the window, and the music is muted. Griffin slips out of the house door and holds up one hand for Eiji to perch in, before he realizes—

“Wait.” He looks at Eiji, sitting in his palm, thunderstruck. “You were just flying! Did you remember how?”

“Huh?!” Eiji sounds startled, and then puffs up in amazement. “I was! Oh! I did not even think, I just did it! Maybe now I can fly again!”

He flaps his wings, just like he did before, but this time, it doesn’t work; he hesitates too long between wingbeats, or he doesn’t use enough force, or _something—_ whatever it may be, he wavers in the air over Griffin’s palm, and then falls right back down into it.

They stare at each other for a second.

Eiji sighs, dejected. “Or maybe not.”

“But we’ve just seen that you can,” Griffin points out. “So the question is how you did it. But right now—we have to find Aslan, okay?”

“Yes!” Eiji perks up again, nodding his little feathered head. “He is in the big barn. There are many of them with him.”

Many of them? What the hell do they want with him? That’s Griffin’s kid brother! Can these… these… pumpkin freaks… whatever they are, can they leave Aslan _alone?_

“Big barn,” Griffin says, grimly. “Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

It feels like some kind of fucking James Bond movie, the amount of ducking and weaving and hiding Griffin has to do to get into the barn unnoticed. His heart is in his throat the entire while, as Eiji hides in his sleeve and quietly tells him which way to go, in the winding streets.

Partygoers, all in their strange harvest getup, wander this way and that, laughing. There are no kids, Griffin notices again—there were two, earlier, but aside from them, even as he goes through the whole town full of revelers slowly meandering home after the festival, there are no more.

This place makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle. He’ll be glad when they’re gone.

He’s nearly to the barn—it’s just across a little field—when he hears voices alarmingly near, and in a panic, swings up into the branches of a nearby tree to hide. Three pumpkin-clad people come around the corner, two in long dresses decorated with vegetables, and the third in a rustic tunic and trousers.

“Wait, how did you not hear? Enoch’s going over to Tiffany’s house right now! The outsider boy is locked up there.” The one with straw-like hair in a long braid on the back of her pumpkin points in the direction Griffin came from.

“That’s so scary,” the one in the tunic says. “Can you believe, he just walked right up to Tiffany? If I saw an outsider trying to steal one of the kids, I would be so angry! I think I would—why, I might just make him one of us on the spot!”

All three of them laugh. “Come on, let’s go. Enoch is usually laid-back, but he was _furious_ when he heard the children were in danger. I’ve never seen him so angry! We have to see the trial!”

Their voices fade as they hurry off the way Griffin came, and he winces. Looks like he’s going to be found out as an escapee pretty soon.

He has to find Aslan.

(What the _fuck_ does “make him one of us” mean?)

“This is scary,” Eiji mumbles, in his sleeve.

It doesn’t matter. Griffin shakes his head, waits until he’s sure they’re gone, and drops out of the tree. Then he sprints across the green, heart in his throat.

In the barn, at least, it seems almost everyone is gone; they must have just disbanded, from whatever was going on here when Eiji saw them. It’s quiet, as Griffin carefully peers around one of the big red doors. At first, he can’t see anyone inside at all, but as his eyes adjust to the dark, he realizes the pumpkin-woman he met earlier is there, in the center, talking to someone he can’t see from this angle.

And, more importantly, so is Aslan.

He’s sitting on a makeshift chair made of stacked bales of hay, his pumpkin still on his head, arms wrapped around himself. Even from this far away, Griffin can see that he’s shaking like a leaf, and his heart breaks even as rage fills him.

They did this to his baby brother! He’s terrified, and they did this to him!

He slips into the barn…

…and the door creaks and closes behind him with an ominous _thud._

“Well, well,” a voice says, and suddenly, Griffin realizes someone else is right next to him. “What have we here, sneakin’ around in our good and peaceful town?”

A figure looms up in the darkness, illuminated by a single shaft of light from the window high above, and Griffin’s stomach plummets as he swallows a scream, stumbling back in sudden fear. It’s at least twice his height, inhuman, with a huge pumpkin for a head and no body, just long, long strips of grass, and—

“So, kidnapper,” it says, and leans down, looming right in his face. Its eyes alone are the size of his torso, and he scrambles back in terror, his heart hammering in his ears. Behind him, he hears Tiffany say something, hears Aslan squeak, but his eyes are fixed on the thing in front of him. “What brings you to Pottsfield, coming for our kids?”

“I’m not a kidnapper!” Griffin bursts out, and takes another step back, and another. “You have it all wrong!”

“You came in and tried to pull one of our children with you.” The creature shakes its huge head, leering down at Griffin. “Now, you should know better. Our kids are precious to us, here, and Pottsfield kids do not leave Pottsfield.”

“Griff!” Aslan wails, behind him. “Griff—let me _go!_ Stop!”

“No, little one! It’s not safe!” Tiffany urges. Griffin looks behind him and sees her trying to usher Aslan away from him, holding him back, and— “Oh!”

Aslan wrenches away from her, leaving the pumpkin head in her hands, and dashes to Griffin’s side, tears streaming down his cheeks. His face is red and blotchy, and he flings himself at Griffin, throws his arms and legs around one of Griffin’s legs, and starts to _bawl._

Heedless of everything else, Griffin drops to one knee and wraps his arms around his little brother and hugs him _tight._ Aslan latches onto him like a limpet, arms around his neck with his little hands making fists in his shirt, and Griffin nearly bursts into tears of his own.

Behind him, the pumpkin creature has stopped its unnerving advance. Tiffany looks shocked.

“Well,” the pumpkin-thing says slowly. It stands up straight again, no longer shoving its face directly at Griffin, and blinks down at them. “It seems… that we have certainly had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Eiji pokes his little feathered head out of Griffin’s collar to nuzzle Aslan’s cheek as he sobs. He gives the pumpkin-thing a very dirty look, even as a bird, and mutters, “No shit.”

Griffin almost laughs.

And so the whole story comes out: that Aslan is his little brother, that it was a costume—“This isn’t even a real pumpkin!” Tiffany exclaims, examining it—and he was trying to ask for directions. To their credit, Enoch and Tiffany are both very apologetic, but Aslan is still sniffling and crying in Griffin’s arms, scared out of his mind, and Griffin is not very inclined to forgive them.

“It’s funny that you came here so early,” Tiffany murmurs, and with one hand made of straw, reaches forward as if to pat Aslan’s shoulder in sympathy. But Griffin gives her a dirty look, and she backs off.

“What do you mean, early?”

“Oh! You don’t know?”

Tiffany looks at Enoch, then back at Griffin, Aslan, and Eiji. Then she reaches up, to remove her pumpkin head, and—

It’s a skull.

Her head is a skull.

“We’ve all already passed once, here,” she explains, because somehow, her voice is coming from a skull with no muscle or tissue or skin. “So you can see, we’re all very protective of our kids. Pottsfield kids don’t grow up. They never got the chance.”

Because…

They’re _dead?_

_Everyone here is dead?_

Tiffany puts the pumpkin back on her head. Griffin is silently grateful.

“We don’t tend to get visitors, so we don’t really have much in the way of lodgings to offer you,” Enoch says, “but if you’d like to simply stay with some of us—”

“No!” Aslan shakes his head. “No no no no! I wanna go _home!”_

“I think we can find somewhere else to stay, thank you,” Eiji says acerbically, and goes back to gently cooing at Aslan.

Enoch shrugs. “Fair ‘nough. Can’t begin to tell you how sorry we are for this whole mess, boys. Tiffany, be a dear and go fetch Harold, will you? He can at least give our guests here a ride to the next town over. There’s an inn, there, where you can stay. You’ll be safe from the Beast there; it avoids well-lit places.”

An inn, safe from the Beast. Griffin nods, slowly, and rubs Aslan’s back. “Fine.”

“I will, of course, give you some funds to cover the bed and breakfast and all,” Enoch adds, and then one of those long, green vines appears out of the dimness with a coin purse. It’s heavy in Griffin’s palm; he shoves it into his pocket to deal with later.

“Thank you.” At least they own up to their mistakes. But his head still hurts, and Aslan is still scared stiff. “We’d like to get going now.”

Enoch tilts his enormous head with an unsettling grin. “Of course. We’ll see you again, someday. Safe travels, you three.”

See them again someday. Because everyone here is dead, and death is inevitable.

“God,” Griffin mutters, as they follow Tiffany out of the barn. “I really hate this fucking town.”

“You can say that again,” Eiji mutters back, and this time, Griffin does snort.

* * *

They ride in the back of the farmer’s wagon. At least he makes no conversation—a boon, because Griffin is certainly in no mood for small talk. Aslan’s tears have finally dried, but he’s still clearly terrified, clinging to Griffin’s side as they sit on the bed of straw. Eiji’s sitting on his shoulder, occasionally chirping softly, but mostly just giving him gentle nuzzles, every now and then.

It’s strange. They’ve picked up a talking bird who’s forgotten how to fly, and yet he flew when they were in danger. At least he seems to be fond of Aslan. Aslan certainly needs all the comfort he can get, right now.

“It’s okay, little bug,” Griffin murmurs, and gives him a gentle squeeze. The woods are dark, but at least the wagon has four lanterns, one hanging at each corner. “They said the Beast will avoid us so long as we have the lights. It’s okay.”

But he knows that that’s not what Aslan is so scared of.

“I’m here,” he says, and drops a kiss to the top of Aslan’s little golden head. And, even though he doesn’t know if it’s a promise he’ll be able to keep, he adds, “I’ll never let anyone take you and hurt you again. I promise.”

Aslan sniffles against his side and says nothing.

Somewhere, in the dark forest, the Beast is watching.

* * *

That night, they stay in an inn, one town over. The farmer drops them off outside the building, then waves and heads back into the gloom. Do those who are already dead not have to worry about the Beast?

Shaking that question off, Griffin takes Aslan’s hand and offers him the most encouraging smile he can. “C’mon, bud. Let’s go get something to eat, and then we can sleep, okay?”

Aslan looks dubious, but nods, biting his lip. It doesn’t exactly take rocket science to know that he’s thinking of how terribly it went for him last time they walked into an unfamiliar place full of strange people, but this time, the second it looks weird, Griffin will be ready. He’ll scoop Aslan up and run.

But to his relief, when he pushes open the heavy wooden door, this time, the common room is filled with people who look… normal. Granted, they’re all dressed kinda funny, in old-fashioned clothes, but he supposes that matches the strangely old-fashioned technology of this place in general. The shadows in the corners are simply shadows, without ominous darkness lurking within, and the smell of hearty food wafts from across the room.

“Welcome!” The woman at the counter waves cheerily. “You boys look hungry! Why not come in for a bite to eat?”

“See?” Griffin murmurs, squeezing Aslan’s hand. “Not so bad.”

Aslan just looks around with big eyes, and doesn’t answer.

“Um—yes please, that’d be nice,” Griffin calls back, and tugs Aslan along as he goes over to the counter so they don’t have to shout across the room. There’s some people playing music by the hearth, and others eating at some big tables by the windows. It smells really good, and Griffin realizes with a start that he’s _hungry_.

“Hi there!” The innkeeper gives them both a big smile. She’s got a kind of squeaky voice, but her smile is genuine. “You boys look like you could use a good, hot meal, am I right?”

Griff puts on his most winsome smile. “Yes, ma’am, we could! And, um, how much would it be for a bed for the night?”

“Oh! You’re travelers, are you?” She claps her hands. “How wonderful! That’ll be five pennies for the meal, and a silver for the room.”

Five pennies for a meal? Damn. If that’s what the economy looks like here… how much money did Enoch give them, anyway?

Guess he really did feel bad for the whole affair. Good, Griffin thinks, annoyed; if they’d all just listened to him instead of mobbing him, Aslan wouldn’t be so petrified right now.

“Sure thing!” He pulls out the coin purse, as careful as he can to hide how heavy it is from anyone else’s eyes—it can’t hurt to be careful, right?—and counts out the right amount, then pushes it across the counter. “Say, uh… do you know anything about—”

“Hold it!”

The innkeeper narrows her eyes at Aslan, and Griff tenses. Aslan’s hand tightens on his like a vice, and he steps a little bit back, ducking instinctively behind Griff’s leg. He’s quivering again, and Griffin defensively steps in front of him.

“Did my brother do something?” Maybe if he just says it up front this time…

But the innkeeper shakes her head. “That bird! We don’t let those animals in here!”

Oh. She’s not frowning at Aslan; she’s frowning at Eiji, who’s sitting on his shoulder. He’s not a wild animal, but if she has a no-bird policy, Eiji’s out a place to stay for the night, and Griffin has no idea how they’d find him in the morning, and—

Thinking fast, Griffin blurts, “It’s not a real bird! It’s a toy.”

“A toy?” The innkeeper blinks. “Looks real t’me!”

“Yeah!” Griffin puts on his best charming smile, the one that persuaded his algebra class not to give any homework for a day. “It’s his favorite toy ‘cuz of how realistic it is. Lots of people think it’s real! My little brother gets a kick out of it.”

He pleads with Eiji to play along. He doesn’t want Eiji to have to spend the night outside in the dark; there’s enough light around the inn that he’s sure the Beast won’t come here, but it still frightens him.

Eiji stays completely still, and Aslan fixes his big, innocent eyes on the innkeeper and nods, still hiding behind Griffin a bit.

And the innkeeper melts. “Well, if that isn’t just the cutest thing! You’ve got a little prankster there, don’t you?” She laughs, then reaches under the counter and pulls out a golden key, sliding it across the wood. Griffin takes it; it’s surprisingly heavy in his hand. “There you are, now. Room 210 is yours for the night! You can go on up, get settled; dinner’s down here whenever you like it. Stairs are around the corner on the right.”

“Thank you,” Griffin says, grateful both for the key and for the opportunity to get out of sight for a little while. He looks down at Aslan, then offers him the key to hold; Aslan takes it carefully, and then holds out his hands, asking to be carried, so Griffin leans down and gathers him up and heads for the stairs.

He’s getting heavier. One of these days, Griffin isn’t gonna be able to carry him anymore.

Is it bad that Griffin doesn’t want that day to come anytime soon? Aslan is his little baby brother. He’s already had to deal with Jim being a piece of shit dad, and growing up without a mom while most other kids in his class have good families. He deserves a real childhood before he has to be an adult.

If— _when_ they make it home, Griffin is going to do everything he can to give Aslan a break. The poor thing needs it. Especially after this.

“You got the key, buddy?” he asks softly, approaching the door. Room number 210. Easy to remember.

Aslan is clutching the key, a real, metal key instead of a card or anything, in one tiny fist. He still hasn’t said a word; it’s starting to worry Griffin, but hopefully a hot meal and good night’s sleep will help him feel better.

At any rate, when Griffin sets him down, he sticks the tea in the lock and carefully turns it; when the lock _clicks,_ he immediately grabs Griffin’s hand again and looks up with big eyes.

“It’s okay!” Griffin soothes, petting his hair like he’s a little kitten or something. “Let’s go in.”

He pushes open the door, and he and Aslan step across the threshold together. It’s a simple enough room, but surprisingly cozy, and Griffin is startled to realize that it actually feels rather safe. He’s not sure anywhere has felt really _safe_ since they got lost in the woods to begin with. There’s only one bed, but it’s easily big enough for the two of them, and he has a feeling Aslan wouldn’t want to sleep separately right now, anyway.

Aside from the bed, there’s a small hearth with a tiny, flickering fire that he’s guessing was just lit by the maid the innkeeper sent to prep the room; there’s also a few lanterns, some in wall sconces and another sitting on the bedside table.

“Thank you,” Eiji pipes up suddenly, and flits over to perch on the edge of the dresser. “For that ruse downstairs. I would not have thought of it in time.”

Griffin does not say that he’s used to coming up with lies on his feet, because it’s the best way to deal with Jim Callenreese and his shitty temper. He just smiles at Eiji and replies, “It’s no problem.”

He lets Aslan stay in the room with Eiji, while he goes downstairs to get them some food. There’s a hearty beef stew with some surprisingly good wheat bread, and a side of grilled potato wedges; Griffin isn’t too sure what Eiji will have, but he figures he can just load up two plates with as much as he thinks they can eat.

Before makes the plates, though, he pauses, going back over to the counter where the innkeeper is talking to another guest, laughing as she pours him a beer. He takes it with a thanks and meanders back to a table, and she turns to him with a warm grin.

“Traveler boy! What can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering, actually.” Griffin pauses, uncertain. “My brother and I, we’re trying to figure out how to get home, but it seems like it’s a lot further away than we realized it was. Do you know if there’s… I dunno, exactly. Someone well-travelled, maybe, or… anyone, that we could maybe ask? We’re not from ‘round here at all.”

“Ooh, hmm. Now that’s a toughie.” The innkeeper hums thoughtfully, tapping one finger to her cheek. “Trying to get home. Where are you boys from, if not around here?”

“It’s—an area called Cape Cod?” Griffin tries. “By the ocean.”

“The ocean!” The innkeeper gawks for a moment. “Well, I’ll be! I’ve never been out that far. Cape Cod, huh? Yeah, you _are_ far from home—I’ve never even heard of it!”

Griffin’s heart sinks. He didn’t think she’d really know how to get to Cape Cod, but it was worth a shot. God…

“But there _might_ be someone who can help you.”

He looks up again with sudden hope. “Really?”

“Now, take this with a grain of salt, ‘course! But,” and she leans in, almost conspiratorially. “There’s talk of a _wizard_ out in the woods. A strange guy. Magic as all hell, and normally I would say steer clear of that, you never know what kind of danger there is there! But some people say he grants wishes, for a price.”

A wizard who grants wishes, for a price. What is this, the land of Oz? _I don’t think we’re in Massachusetts anymore, Toto,_ he thinks, and almost laughs.

“A price. Do you know what kind of price…?”

But the innkeeper shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear, that really is all I know. They say it’s a steep price, but for all I know, that just means he asks for a lotta gold. Wish I could help you more!”

“That’s okay, you’ve helped plenty.” Griffin offers her a little smile. “I, um, did have one other question, though, if you don’t mind?”

The innkeeper beams at him. “Sure, go right on ahead!” 

Right. Okay. “Yeah, uh… since we’re not from around here, but I’ve heard a bit of talk…” Griffin clears his throat. “I was wondering if you could tell me about… the Beast?”

Her face darkens immediately. “We all know the Beast, ‘round these parts. You’ve seen the eyes, in the forest, haven’t’cha?”

Griffin just nods.

“He finds people who get lost.” The innkeeper wraps her arms around herself. “And he waits until they despair, and then, _bam!_ He turns them into edelwood trees—have you seen ‘em? They’re the kinda reddish trees that almost have _faces!”_

The Beast turns people into trees? What for?

His confusion must show on his face, because the innkeeper shakes her head and wags a finger at him. “Now you be _careful_ out there, young man! Those edelwood trees are sad, sad things! It’s said that each ‘n’ every one of them is a lost soul that the Beast got to.”

“But why?” Griffin frowns. “What does he… it… get out of turning people into trees?”

The innkeeper shrugs. “No one has ever gotten close enough to ask and lived to tell the tale. The rumors say he has a mill, somewhere, and a woodsman who cuts the edelwoods down for him, and he turns the oil from the wood into fuel for his lantern. No one knows why it has to be edelwood oil. Or if the mill really exists.”

The mill? A mill with a house full of dusty furniture and lanterns that seem to burn ghosts rather than flames?

A chill runs down Griffin’s spine. If that was the Beast’s mill and cottage, why did it stop when they ran in?

“But that’s enough of that dark talk!” The innkeeper claps her hands. “I saw you eyein’ the food table a minute ago. You go eat up! And make sure that _adorable_ little brother of yours does, too! No hungry stomachs, not under my roof, no sir!”

Griffin laughs politely. “Yes, ma’am!”

He loads up two plates with as much food as he thinks he and Aslan and Eiji can manage between the three of them, then quietly retreats upstairs.

“What took you so long?” Aslan asks, eyes big and sad. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours, and Griffin has to hide just how much of a relief it is to hear his voice again. “I got scared.”

“Sorry, buddy!” Griffin sets the plates down on the little table. “I started chatting with the innkeeper, that’s all. It’s okay. Now c’mere, yeah? You gotta eat, and this food smells pretty good!”

After dinner, they take turns taking baths; the only changes of clothing they have are the (still kind-of dusty) ones Griffin took from the strange house by the mill that might belong to the Best, but dusty potential-Beast-mill-clothes are better than nothing. Although he’s exhausted, Griffin washes their Halloween clothes by hand in the tub and hangs them up by the hearth to dry overnight.

Aslan is asleep, by the time he’s done, curled up in a tiny ball. Eiji’s awake, though, sitting with him as he works. The firelight reflects red in his round, dark eyes.

“I am still wondering,” he says, at some point, his voice low. “How I knew how to fly, earlier, but I do not anymore.”

“I don’t know,” Griffin admits. “But at least we know you _can._ Maybe you just need some kind of subconscious pressure to be able to kick yourself into gear.”

“But I could not fly when I tried to flee from the Beast,” Eiji points out. “So it cannot just be fear.”

That’s a good point, but Griffin doesn’t have the answer. He doesn’t really have any answers. “Yeah. Maybe it was because you were… determined? You were trying really hard to save Aslan. Which… I don’t remember if I ever actually thanked you for that. So, thank you.”

Eiji only half seems to hear him. He’s staring at the fire, as if lost deep in the forest of thought.

“Save… Ash,” he says, slowly.

“Ash?” Is he saying that becaue he’s looking at the hearth?

Eiji doesn’t answer for several seconds. When he does, he just shakes his head and sighs. “No, I mean… Aslan. I think I—I thought I was about to remember something, but… it slipped away again. I just wish I could figure it out!”

“Maybe sleep will help,” Griffin suggests, though he kind of doubts it actually will. But he’s finished hanging up their wet clothes, and he’s completely drained. “We should get some rest.”

“Yes, we should.” Eiji nods, and hops on his hand, and Griffin carries him over to the bed, where he makes himself a little nest from one of the pillows and part of the spare blanket, and settles in.

Griffin slips into bed next to Aslan, and gently pulls his little brother close. Aslan sighs in his sleep, but doesn’t wake; Griffin just holds him for several seconds.

He’s here. He’s safe. It’s going to be okay.

“Good night, Eiji.”

“Good night, Griffin.”

* * *

Morning brings with it the very welcome intrusion of light. It drips around the edges of the curtains and leaks into the corners of the room, slowly brightening as the sun climbs into the sky, and slowly amid the bright dew, Griffin finds himself blinking awake.

“Aslan,” he murmurs, and prods his little brother, who’s still asleep, curled into his side. “You feeling better?”

“Mmnmph. Go ‘way,” Aslan grumbles, which is how Griffin knows he’s going to be alright.

“Good morning to you, too,” Eiji huffs from Aslan’s other side, and Griffin snorts.

Griffin fetches breakfast from the common room downstairs, and they eat their eggs and toast with jam together. Eiji pretends to be Aslan’s favorite toy bird again as Griffin bids the innkeeper their farewells, and then hand-in-hand with Aslan, he leads the way into town.

Surely _someone_ here must know how to get home.

And surely enough, once he asks around enough, he hears news that makes him perk up. A man in a bowler hat that makes Aslan giggle tells him that if they go down the main street, then follow signs toward the river, they’ll find the train station, and that’s always where travelers want to go.

A train station! That’s exactly what they need. A train station will surely have maps and answers and _some_ kind of way to get home.

“Come on!” He squeezes Aslan’s hand, and Aslan perks up at his side. “You heard the man. A train station! I’m sure we can figure out how to get home from there. We’ll be on the way back home in no time, just you wait!”

“Yeah!” Aslan gives him a little smile… and then pauses. “Hey, Griff?”

“What?”

“When we go home… do you think I’m gonna have more math homework to make up?”

Griffin laughs. God, the priorities of a six-year-old…

“You might,” he allows. “But don’t worry, I’ll help you if it’s hard, okay?”

Aslan rolls his eyes. “It’s never _hard,_ it’s just so _boring_ to do…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Aslan is pretty good at school, Griff will give him that. He’s a bright, precocious kid—that’s why it hurts all the more that he’s stuck in this shitty situation, without real parents to care for him. Griffin hurts for him, sometimes, just thinking about it. “You still gotta do your homework, though.”

Aslan blows out a sigh. “Fine…”

“You are in school?” Eiji asks, tilting his head. He’s sitting on Aslan’s shoulder today, like last night, still occasionally bumping against his cheek, and it’s… pretty cute. Like he’s fussing over Aslan the same way Griff does.

“Yeah.” Aslan puffs out his cheeks. “But everything they’re teaching me is so boring. I don’t need to learn how to read! I already know how!”

“Wow!” Eiji laughs. “I did not learn to read English for a while. And Japanese is more complicated.”

“Did you go to school?” Aslan asks eagerly. He really has taken a liking to Eiji.

“Yes! In Japan,” Eiji says. “As a human, of course, not a bird.”

And then he pauses. Griffin looks down at him; Aslan doesn’t seem to have noticed anything off about what he just said.

“You were a human?” Griffin asks.

“I… I think so, yes?” Eiji fluffs up slightly, ruffled. “I—I wasn’t thinking about it, and I remembered so easily, but now that I am trying to, I cannot think of anything!”

Huh. So maybe the subconscious is the way to go with him. And he… _wasn’t_ always a bluebird?

Yeah, Griffin has just about given up on trying to figure out the rules that govern this place. Wherever “this place” actually is.

“It’s okay,” he offers. “At least we know the memories are there inside you. We’ll figure out how to get them out!”

“Yes… thank you…”

Dissatisfied, Eiji sighs and picks at one of his wings, and Aslan reaches up to gently pet his head.

The train station, when they arrive, is a beautiful old red brick building, with high ceilings and arched windows that let in plenty of sunlight. There’s a little bookstore, though it doesn’t seem to be open right now, and a few benches, and stands, but strangely enough, there’s no ticket counter.

“Huh.” Eiji hops on Aslan’s shoulder, flapping his wings enough to hover just for a few seconds before he flutters back down. “This is weird.”

“What do you mean?” Aslan asks him, tilting his head. “Looks like a train station to me.”

“There is no rail map.” Eiji tilts his little feathered head. “What kind of train station has no obviously posted rail maps…?”

“Maybe they just didn’t put one on the walls,” Griffin suggests, but his heart is already sinking. Is this really going to be another dead end? He and Aslan have been out here for two days already. “There might be pamphlets or something around here…”

But no. Even after they inspect the closed bookstore, there’s no map. The books are all strange, too, from what they can see through the bars; many of them seem to be self-help books, but a lot are also about grief and moving on. The only newspaper they can see has a list of obituaries, front and center.

As nice as the train station looked when they arrived, it’s starting to make Griffin’s skin crawl. There’s something off about this place.

“Maybe we should just—”

A bell begins to ring, cutting him off midsentence, and all three of them jump, startled. They’re the only people here, but there’s a harsh, discordant noise from outside, on the platform, and after a second, Griffin realizes that the screeching is that of metal—it’s a train coming to a halt.

“I wonder if there are any passengers disembarking here!” Eiji does his little fluttery jump again, like he’s trying to fly but can’t quite manage, and Aslan holds out a hand for him to land in. “We could ask them…?”

“Yeah, worth a shot,” Griffin agrees. Aslan hesitates, though, and steps a little closer to his side, and with a pang, Griffin offers him his hand again. Aslan takes it gratefully.

As it turns out, though, only one person comes through the door from the platform. He’s quite unique—he looks nothing like anyone else they’ve seen in this place. In fact, Griffin thinks, hope mounting, he looks like he’s from _their world._ Where things are normal, and it’s the twenty-first century.

He’s also a little bit intimidating, though, Griffin has to admit; he’s _tall,_ with broad shoulders and dark sunshades, and most distinctive of all, bright purple hair in a mohawk, though it isn’t spiked up. And, as he walks closer, Griffin realizes he has an eyebrow piercing.

Yeah. This guy’s kind of scary.

On Aslan’s shoulder, Eiji lets out a strangled gasp and _dives_ into Griffin’s sleeve. He huddles in against Griffin’s wrist, and Griffin can feel him trembling.

“Eiji?” he murmurs. He’d lift his wrist, to cradle Eiji to his chest to soothe him—maybe the guy is just way scarier when you’re as tiny as a bird—but that hand is holding Aslan’s, and he doesn’t want to let go, but—

Aslan lets go of his own volition, and to Griffin’s complete and utter shock, scampers over towards the punk-looking dude. Not within arm’s reach, but still, significantly closer than Griffin expected him to go, given that he literally hid behind him when talking to the innkeeper.

“Whoa,” Aslan gasps, hands clasped. “Your hair is so cool, mister! It’s so purple!”

 _“Aslan!”_ Griffin hurries over to him, heart in his throat. Everyone always says not to talk to people like that, right? And people have been weird enough to Aslan here already, and—

“Oh, you like it? Thanks, lil guy!” The guy grins and pushes his shades up into his hair, and suddenly, just like that, he looks ten times more approachable. Oh. Huh.

Okay.

“You’re welcome,” Aslan says, very politely, and Griffin almost laughs. Then Aslan turns those big green eyes up at him. “Hey, Griff. When we go home, can we make _my_ hair purple?”

That—

Griffin snorts despite himself. Little Aslan running around with purple hair? What a sight he’d be. “We’ll see,” he says diplomatically—he thinks it’d be harmless and fun _,_ but at the same time, he knows their shitty dad would definitely yell at Aslan over it, for looking like a delinquent, or whatever. Jim Callenreese just loves to find fault with Aslan, while holding Griff up on a pedestal as the “golden child”. It sucks all around.

God, though. Griffin wishes he could share Aslan’s confidence in saying _when_ we go home. He’s starting to wonder…

“Aw, c’mon, let him!” the purple-haired man encourages. “Hair that pale, you wouldn’t even need to bleach it, and that’s where the damage mostly comes in, anyway. Get some washout dye first, see if he likes it, and then if he does, why not! Hair grows back.”

Eiji’s still in his sleeve, shaking like a leaf. Griffin cradles that wrist to his chest, trying to pet him soothingly. The guy seems way more harmless than anticipated, so what’s his deal?

“Yeah, I know.” Griffin laughs a little awkwardly, and for the first time he looks at the guy’s face, and—

He nearly takes a step back. Those eyes are _haunted._

The man with purple hair doesn’t seem to notice his reaction, or if he does, he doesn’t show any response; he just grins at Aslan, genuine and charming, but then it fades to a more troubled look. “You said when you go home? You… live out here, or?”

That’s the opening Griffin needs. “No, actually—we’re from, uh… okay, I dunno if this is a stupid question for you, but… have you heard of Cape Cod?”

Something about that makes the guy snap to attention, and then he rakes those haunted, intense eyes over them both. What he sees makes his eyes widen, for some reason, especially as he looks at Aslan, but Griffin has no idea why.

“Yeah, I have. I’m from New York City.” His voice has gone strangely soft. “My name’s Shorter. Shorter Wong.”

“Shorter?” Griffin repeats, his heart singing. They’ve finally met another person who knows the right places, who’s heard of Cape Cod, who knows where home is! “Nice to meet you. My name’s Griffin, and this is my little brother, Aslan.”

“Yeah, I know—”

Eiji lets out a strangled cry from inside Griffin’s sleeve, and then he shoots out, flapping his wings hard. He’s flying, Griffin realizes with wide eyes, as Eiji lets out a soft cry again and dives toward Shorter, who takes a step back in shock.

“Shorter!” he cries, and lands on Shorter’s shoulder. “Shorter, Shorter, Shorter, what are you _doing_ here, what happened, I am so sorry, Shorter, oh god!”

“Wha— _Eiji?”_ Shorter catches him in a hand that’s surprisingly gentle for someone with his hardcore appearance, and looks at him with disbelief. “Are you a _bird?”_

“You guys know each other?” Aslan asks, his eyes big and round.

“Yeah,” Shorter says, and holds Eiji to his cheek. Eiji nuzzles him like he did yesterday, with Aslan, in the farmer’s wagon, but where yesterday he was desperate to comfort Aslan, now he seems frantic to reassure _himself._ “Eiji, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I—I do not know,” Eiji stammers, and butts his head against Shorter’s cheek again. “I cannot remember—I get flashes, here and there, but—I, I remember you, and—and—I am so sorry, I am sorry, I am so, so sorry!”

“Hey.” That haunted look intensifies with sorrow, but Shorter smiles at Eiji in his palm anyway. “It wasn’t your fault. Promise. And… if you can, tell Ash it wasn’t his fault, either. I know his dumb ass will be blaming himself. _I’m_ sorry, Eiji. I was the one who put you in that situation.”

“What are they talking about?” Aslan asks softly, looking up at Griffin.

“I have no idea,” Griffin admits. “But it sounds like a private conversation.”

Still, he wonders. Eiji said _Ash_ last night, and at the time, Griffin thought it was a slip of the tongue, but Shorter just mentioned an Ash, too.

“It was not your fault,” Eiji is protesting, sounding so very close to tears. Can birds cry? “It was not, you were forced, everything was—I just—I _miss_ you!”

“I know. I know.” Shorter gently pets the top of Eiji’s tiny head. “Shit just wasn’t fair, huh? I know. I already miss you so much, too. But I’m glad I got to see you again, even if it is weird like this. I mean, you’re a bird.”

Eiji lets out a little choked laugh. “I do not know why. I can hardly remember. I do not even know where we are.”

Shorter blows out a slow breath. “I don’t know, exactly, either,” and here he looks up from Eiji in his cupped palms, to Griffin and Aslan, too. “I’m afraid I dunno how to get you guys home. I know you’ll get there, though.”

“What do you mean?” Griffin asks, heart sinking like a stone again.

Shorter chews on his lower lip. Eiji flutters his wings in his palms. “The trains only run in one direction,” Shorter finally says, “and it’s away from home.”

_No…_

“I’m making a pit stop here, for a little while,” Shorter adds, “but I’m getting back on, eventually.”

“Why?” Eiji asks, desperate. “Come home. Come home with us! We are going to find a way.”

Shorter kisses the top of his head again. “You know I can’t,” he says, voice soft. “But we’ll find each other again, one day, at the end of the line.”

“No!” Eiji insists. “Shorter, _please.”_

“Eiji.” Shorter smiles sadly, but this time, the haunted look has faded, just a little. “You can let me go. It’s okay.”

“No! No, no, Shorter, you can’t—you can’t—please, don’t…”

It’s a losing battle, and though he doesn’t know the stakes, watching still makes Griffin’s heart ache. He reaches for Aslan’s hand again, pulling him close to his side, and knows the feeling must be mutual, because Aslan presses himself against his leg and doesn’t protest once.

* * *

That day, they don’t search for a way home any longer. Instead, they spend a few hours with Shorter, and though Eiji is sad, he laughs at all of Shorter’s jokes, and Shorter lets him sit on his shoulder and laughs with him. They seem happy together, like dear friends, but when the next train comes in the evening, it takes Shorter with it.

On the way back to the inn, they walk past a pumpkin, just sitting next to someone’s door. Decoration, perhaps, or part of a harvest forgotten on the doorstep. Whatever the reason, it makes Aslan go pale with fright, immediately clutching at Griffin’s hand and begging him to carry him, and then Griffin’s walking back to the inn with Eiji silently inconsolable on one shoulder, and Aslan whimpering softly with his face buried in the other.

The innkeeper asks him, that night, what happened to his little brother’s favorite toy. Eiji, curled up in his sleeve, forlorn, is hidden from view.

Griffin tells her it broke, and he and Aslan trudge up the stairs. No one sleeps well, that night.

Around three or four in the morning, Griffin wakes, though he isn’t sure why. It takes him a few moments to adjust, blinking sleepily at the ceiling. Aslan is asleep at his side, curled into a little ball as usual, and he pets his little brother’s hair for a moment.

Eiji, he realizes, isn’t on the pillow. Instead, he’s perched in front of the hearth, staring into the embers.

“Hey,” Griffin murmurs, voice rough from sleep. “You okay?”

“I am starting to remember more.” Eiji takes a breath. “Something is wrong. None of us should be here. I think…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Griffin promises him groggily. “We’ll get home. You’ll get back to your real body.”

“I hope so.” Eiji doesn’t turn around.

Griffin hesitates, for a second, but it’s killing him, not knowing. He didn’t ask earlier out of respect for Eiji’s obvious grief, but… “Hey, Eiji. Who is Shorter, anyway?”

Eiji heaves a sad sigh. “A very good friend,” he says, slowly. “He died. Because of me. He—he was trying to protect me, but… he died.”

A chill runs down Griffin’s spine. “He died? Then… how did we just meet him?”

“That is what I mean.” For the first time, Eiji looks at him; the dim light of the hearth is reflected in his dark eyes. “I do not think that we should be here. Something is not right. Do you remember how you got here?”

Griffin tries to think. He does. He remembers that Halloween party, and then seeing Aslan run off into the woods, and following him, and… and then there were those eyes, and they were at the cabin by the mill.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because _somewhere_ in the woods, they clearly left Cape Cod, but he doesn’t know how, or why. “I have no clue.”

“Me neither.” Eiji looks back into the hearth. “But I think something bad happened to me. To all of us.”

“Do you think we’re dead?”

“No.” Eiji shifts his wings, tucking them against himself. “If we were, I think we would have gotten on that train with Shorter. I do not know _what_ we are. But I know something is wrong.”

“We’ll leave town tomorrow,” Griffin decides. It’s a paltry plan, if they need to hop dimensions or something, but it’s better than nothing, and he can’t just sit still and wait. “We’ll figure out where we’re going. And we’ll get to the bottom of this, and we’ll go home.”

Eiji nods, slowly. “Yes. I think… I think I have something important to do, when I go back.”

“So do I.” Griffin looks at Aslan, peacefully asleep at his side. _I need to see him grow up, safe and happy._ “We’ll do it.”

Eiji sighs again, and looks at the flickering shadows on the floor. “Yes,” he agrees, his voice soft. “I hope so.” 

* * *

They leave town first thing in the morning, following the road. It runs by the train tracks for a while, but then the train crosses the river, and the road doesn’t, and they keep walking into the woods. The mood is more somber than yesterday morning, and Griffin knows they’re all thinking of two things: Shorter, and the Beast.

Shorter is somewhere beyond the river. The Beast is somewhere in the woods.

And then they find the wizard’s mansion. It’s large and sprawling and grand, and everything about it makes Griffin’s skin crawl. Something so luxurious seems horribly out of place here, and with what the innkeeper said about _steep prices…_

Somewhere in the woods, the Beast is waiting. But it is not the Beast that frightens Griffin, this time.

No, it is the man in the fancy-looking suit and cold eyes, who says, “I can help you get home.”

 _“Don’t trust him,”_ Eiji hisses, puffing up in alarm. Griffin doesn’t think he’s ever heard him so vehement, as he hops down to sit on Aslan’s shoulder and unfurls his wings, as if he can protect him by being a tiny shield.

“What do you mean by that?” Griffin asks, slowly.

The man with cold eyes laughs. Something about him is deeply unsettling, Griffin thinks, and he steps forward just slightly, shifting his weight so that he’s in front of Aslan.

“Just that. I can send you home, but there is a price.”

The man’s cold eyes drop to Aslan, and Griffin’s skin crawls for reasons he can’t name. Eiji flaps his wings furiously.

“ _You_ will return home,” the man with cold eyes says. “But the little one will stay here, with me. The spell requires the soul of an innocent.”

“Over my dead fucking body!”

Griffin doesn’t wait for a response to that. He scoops Aslan into his arms and turns and runs, as fast as he can, until he’s sure the man can’t be following them, can’t still be fixing his cold eyes on Aslan.

Around them, the trees grow ever darker.

* * *

Griffin isn’t sure they’re going to make it home anymore.

He doesn’t tell Aslan.

“When we get home,” Aslan tells him, taking his hand and swinging it, “I wanna make a big chocolate cake, and eat the whole thing. And we have to put the really good dark chocolate frosting on it, too.”

“So much chocolate in one sitting?” Eiji sniffs disdainfully. “You will make yourself sick!”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen this kid eating cake,” Griffin sighs, and despite himself, as they walk under the trees—another day, another trek. “He could inhale an entire bakery and still want more. If you ever take him to a dessert café, he’ll eat them out of house and home.”

“I’m still young,” Aslan huffs. “Maybe I’ll have to worry about my sugar intake when I’m old and lame like you guys, but for now, I am in my _prime._ ”

It makes Griffin laugh, despite everything.

(No, he doesn’t tell Aslan. He has a feeling, though, that Aslan knows anyway.)

* * *

A day later, they’re in the woods again, walking and walking, somewhere and nowhere. The sky is grey and heavy, and Griffin eyes it uncertainly, fearing the moment when it opens up and pours. It’s chilly, today, and they have no umbrella, but at least so far, it’s merely overcast, and there is no rain.

They come across a train platform. It’s a small one, by the side of the river; there’s a bridge where the tracks cross back over, and the platform has a couple of benches, and a cover in case of rain, but is otherwise barren.

A young man is sitting there.

He looks up at the sound of their approach, leaves crunching underfoot, and Griffin couldn’t say why, but his breath catches in his throat. The young man has messy blond hair and green eyes, and he’s well-dressed, wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a long white coat. But something about his face is… almost like looking into a mirror.

Eiji gasps. _“Ash?”_

Ash. The Ash that Eiji and Shorter mentioned… is he…?

Griffin looks down at Aslan. Then at the young man. And then at Aslan again. Something starts to slot together, in his mind, but he isn’t sure that he wants to see it, because the idea of Aslan escaping here once only to come back years later is more distressing than he wants to admit. Is there an older version of himself out here somewhere, too?

“Eiji?” the young man asks, brow furrowing, as he stands up from the bench, and pushes something into his pocket—an envelope, maybe. “Eiji. Are you a bird?”

Eiji flaps his wings agitatedly. “I—yes, but I don’t know why—I don’t remember. I know you, I _know_ I know you, but…”

“You don’t remember me?” Something flickers in those green eyes. Why does he look so haunted? That… that can’t be how Aslan grows up.

Does Griffin really fail him so deeply?

He doesn’t like that thought, and little Aslan down at his side seems to know _something_ is wrong, even if he doesn’t know precisely what, because when Griffin leans down and picks him up, holding him at his hip because he _needs_ to know he’s safe, he doesn’t protest at all.

“I… I do, but I do not.” Eiji flaps his wings again, all puffed up with distress. “I…”

The young man who isn’t Aslan but _is,_ looks at Griffin then, and at Aslan in his arms. His sad eyes soften, and he steps forward. “And… Griff. I didn’t know I’d been here before. But it makes sense.”

“Who are you?” Aslan demands, clutching a fistful of Griffin’s sweater with wide eyes. “Why do you know Griff?”

The young man—Ash, Eiji called him, and it’s much easier to call him _Ash_ in his mind than to keep referring to him as _the boy who isn’t Aslan, but is_ —smiles, gentle. Something about it makes Griffin want to protect him, and his heart aches. Ash seems to be about the same age as he is, right now. Why is he so _sad?_

“I’m you, silly.” Ash lightly pokes Aslan’s nose. Aslan leans away, looking mildly offended. “When you’re all grown up.”

 _“What?”_ Aslan wrinkles his nose, then looks at Griffin, seeking verification. “No way. That makes no sense!”

“You can accept a talking bird, but not time travel, or something of the sort?” Ash laughs softly. “Sounds just like me, yeah.”

“Wait.” Eiji looks back and forth between Aslan and Ash. “You… are Ash, but little?”

“No!” Aslan huffs, shaking his head, and pouts. “I’m _Aslan!_ He’s weird!”

Ash laughs again. His smile turns sadder, though, as he looks at Griffin, and then to Griffin’s surprise, he steps forward and hugs him. Aslan lets out a squawk of protest, but Ash doesn’t seem to care; he just wraps his arms around them both and lays his head on Griffin’s shoulder. Eiji hops up out of the way to sit atop Griffin’s head.

It’s strange, because standing here in the woods, his arms around his little brother twice over, with a temporary-amnesiac of a talking bird on his head, Griffin feels the most _right_ he has ever since he and Aslan came to this place.

He holds Ash tighter to himself. Rubs his back, gently, the same way he does when Aslan has night terrors and comes crying into his bed.

“I missed you,” Ash admits, his voice tremulous, though Griffin can’t see his face. “I know this isn’t normal at all, but… I’m really glad I get to see you again.”

A chill runs down Griffin’s spine. “Aslan…”

_See me again? Did you lose me?_

He can’t ask that in front of Aslan. Not little Aslan, who needs him. The answer is apparent enough from the way Ash is holding him, staying pressed close to him, the exact same way he does—did?—as a child. The way the child in Griffin’s arms does _._

When does Aslan lose him? What _happens_ to him? He can’t imagine ever voluntarily leaving him. Is it…

No. He can’t go down this train of thought. But there’s a fear, there, underlying it all; what will happen to him? Ash can’t be more than twenty. So… Griffin won’t even make it to his mid-thirties?

And Aslan…

Aslan winds up here again. Here, in these dark, haunted woods. And this time, he’s alone.

It breaks Griffin’s heart. His chest tightens, but he swallows, hard—he won’t cry, he can’t cry, not in front of Aslan; Aslan needs him to be strong. He won’t cry.

“Griff?” Aslan’s little hand pats his cheek. “Are you okay?”

Fuck.

Griffin breathes in slowly, trying to steady himself, and blinks back tears before he looks at his little brother, green eyes big and worried. He smiles as best as he can, and presses a quick kiss to Aslan’s forehead.

“I’m fine, squirt. Thanks for asking.”

Ash finally, finally lifts his head from his shoulder and looks at him. He’s crying, silent tears that just roll down his cheeks and drip from his chin, but he’s smiling, too.

 _“Ash,”_ Eiji says, so soft, and then he flits over to Ash’s shoulder and nuzzles his cheek. “Ash, Ash, Ash. I am here. I am here.”

Ash laughs softly, almost broken. It terrifies Griffin. “I thought you didn’t remember me. What’re you doing?”

Eiji nuzzles his cheek again. “I do not remember, but I still know.”

It makes no sense. It makes complete sense.

“What are you doing here, Ash?” Griffin murmurs, his voice soft. He hefts Aslan up on his hip, and Aslan wraps his arms around his neck, clinging to him as he watches Ash cry, his eyes still big and concerned.

Ash smiles again, but it only makes Griffin’s heart turn to ice. He looks so, so _tired._

“It’s a train platform, isn’t it? I’m waiting on a train.”

No. No, no, no. Aslan can’t be—

“No!” Eiji cries. “Ash, you can’t!”

A little hand reaches over and wipes the tears from Ash’s cheeks. Aslan pats his face very gently, his face intent, and then he cups Ash’s cheek in one palm. Ash’s eyes are wide, and for a moment, Griffin swears looking between them is like seeing age in a mirror.

“The trains only run in one direction,” Aslan says, serious. “They won’t take you home. Home is the other way. We’re going to figure out how to go home! Do you want to come with us?”

Ash sucks in a breath like he’s just had all the air punched out of his lungs.

“I—I can’t,” he says, and wipes his eyes, but more tears fall, and Griffin’s heart _shatters_. “It’s—it’s already too late for me. I’m… so tired. It’s better if I just get on a train. But thank you. Thank you so much.”

“But I don’t want to get on a train!” Aslan looks upset. “Don’t go on it!”

“No!” Eiji’s wings flutter in agitation, and he shakes his head in distress. “Why do you all have to leave me—don’t! Do not get on a train, stop!”

“You don’t even remember me.” Ash lifts one hand, stroking a finger over Eiji’s head and back. “It’ll be alright. You’ll be okay. I promise. You’ll be safer.”

“Safer?” Eiji shakes his head again, then nuzzles into Ash’s hand with a desperation that’s painful to watch. 

The wind blows gently through the trees. The rustling of the leaves sounds almost like the sea, sighing against the shores at home. Home, far, far away as it is.

Griffin gets the beginnings of the feeling that something, somewhere, is slotting neatly into place. That this is an inevitable parting, that…

He can’t make Ash stay.

It’s gutwrenching. It takes the shattered pieces of his heart and stomps them into the soil and grinds them into the dirt.

And it brings him peace.

“Ash,” he says, and very gently, he puts Aslan down, just for a moment. “Ash, come here.”

Eiji falls silent, as Griffin draws Ash into another hug, this one as tight as he can manage. Ash tucks his face into his neck again and trembles in his arms, for a moment, and then _clings_ to him. Aslan, standing next to him, wraps his arms around his leg.

Griffin rubs his back. Holds him. Holds him so, so tight. It feels final, like once he lets go, he’s never going to hold him again, not like this, and that makes him want to hold on forever.

He can’t. But he won’t let go first.

A minute passes. Two. Then, Ash lifts his head, slowly, hesitantly.

“You guys need to get going,” he murmurs, wiping tears from his eyes again. “It’s dangerous after dark.”

“What about you?” Griffin gently uses his sleeve to scrub his cheeks dry. “You’ll be alone.”

“I’ll be alright, Griff.” Ash sniffles, then smiles at him, warm and radiant despite his teary eyes. “I promise.”

“Okay. I trust you. Take care of yourself.” Griffin smiles back, swallowing the urge to cry. He strokes the hair back from Ash’s face and wishes he could shake the feeling of finality that comes with tucking a lock behind Ash’s ear.

He cups Ash’s face, then, and leans in. He has to go up on his toes a little to press a kiss to his forehead, just like he does when his little Aslan cries, and Ash takes a shaky breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

“My train will come before dark. I’ll be alright. I…” He swallows, hard, and hugs Griffin again, then lets go and drops to one knee to hug Aslan tight. It’s strange, seeing them both together, but Aslan doesn’t seem to care—he just flings his arms around Ash’s neck like he does with Griff, and hugs him back desperately.

“I don’t want you to go,” Eiji protests, weak. “I don’t want…”

“It’s better if I do, darling.” Ash stands back up, and wipes his eyes one more time. Griffin’s throat hurts from how hard he’s trying to swallow back his own tears. _Darling?_ Is that… he finds love, and has to say goodbye?

Eiji shakes his head again, troubled. “I—no, I do not think it is.”

“I can’t get you hurt again.” Ash drops a tiny kiss to the top of Eiji’s little feathered head. “I want you to be safe. I know you won’t remember this, later, but I want you to live the best, happiest life you can.”

This hurts.

The wind blows through the trees again, gentle but persistent, a reminder that they need to find shelter for the night before the Beast begins his prowl.

“I love you,” Griffin tells his brother. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Ash promises, his smile radiant. “I promise. I love you, too. All of you.”

Walking away from that little train platform in the woods is the hardest thing Griffin has ever, _ever_ done. He can feel Ash’s eyes on his back as he retreats, and on his shoulder, Eiji is trembling.

It’s only when they’re in the woods again, out of view and out of earshot, that Griffin stumbles to his knees and falls to sit under a tree, gathers Aslan into his arms as tight as he can hold him, and _sobs._

* * *

Dismally, it goes from _chilly_ to _cold_ as the afternoon draws on into evening, and the dark clouds only get darker. Aslan shivers as they walk, his hand cold in Griffin’s, and Griffin wishes he had a thicker coat or mittens or _something_ to offer him.

They walk mostly in silence. The road tapers into a path that meanders and fades into nothing, just the woods, and they keep walking, because there’s no point in turning back. Griffin is starting to wonder if there’s a point in going forward, either.

Shorter got on a train. Ash must have gotten on a train, too, by now. Maybe they should go back and wait for a train themselves. It won’t get them home, but at this rate, _nothing_ will.

He’s… he’s crushed. Knowing that even if they do get home, now, _something_ will happen to him within a few years, and Aslan will be alone, and then he’ll hurt and hurt until he gets that sad, haunted, guarded look in his eyes, and then he’ll wind up here again anyway. That knowledge reaches into his chest and takes his heart in a fist and squeezes until it bruises and bleeds and breaks, because—because—

What’s the _point?_

The wizard’s price was too high—that isn’t a price Griffin is ever willing to pay—but that was their only real hope to get home, too. And now they have nothing to look for, just… a vague meandering in the woods.

“Griffin?” Aslan tugs at his hand, voice hushed as if he can sense that there’s no point anymore, too. “It’s cold.”

“I know, lil bug.” Griffin sighs. “Do you want to try and light a fire? We could see if we can find wood.”

“It’s snowing,” Eiji says, very softly. He’s been sitting on Aslan’s shoulder since they left Ash, but this is the first time he’s spoken.

Griffin looks up and realizes that oh, it _is_ snowing. Little tiny white flakes, drifting down from the grey sky. They’re deceptively peaceful; as beautiful as the sight is, it fills him with dread. They can’t survive a night out in the snow alone.

“We’ll build a fire,” he decides. “Everyone said the Beast avoids light, right? It’ll keep us safe.”

Gathering wood is the easy part. They’re in the forest; it’s not too terribly hard to find branches and twigs here and there, but most of it is damp, or green, or both, and Griffin worries.

It takes forever to get the fire going. The sun slowly sinks toward the horizon as Eiji huddles in Aslan’s hair, and Aslan rubs his hands together to try and generate warmth. He’s shivering, his lips pale, and it makes Griffin’s heart ache as he kneels in front of their carefully-stacked wood striking rocks together with numb hands, and begs a spark to take.

The snow has started to blanket the ground, a tiny white layer in patches here and there, by the time Griffin finally manages to get the fire going. He can’t feel his fingers, but that’s okay—the fire is there, small and flickering but steady, and he could cry from relief as he gently blows on it, feeding it dry leaves and small twigs so it can build enough to take on the larger branches.

“Aslan, Eiji,” he encourages. “Come, sit.”

Aslan huddles into his side, shaking, and reaches out both hands for the fire. Griffin watches it reflect in his eyes, and wonders if he can blame his tears on the smoke.

“This isn’t right.” Eiji looks around, suddenly. “Something is not… this is not right.”

“What do you mean?” Aslan doesn’t look up from the fire. Griffin looks around at the deepening shadows under the trees, and hopes that the feeling of eyes on his back is simply his imagination.

“I left him.” Eiji flaps his wings, hovering for a second, and then drops back down. “I should have stayed, I—this isn’t right, I can’t—why can I not _remember?”_

Aslan cups his hands, and lets Eiji sit in them. “I think you do remember, somewhere, deep down,” he says, thoughtful. He’s still so cold; Griffin holds him tight, trying to rub some warmth back into his shoulders, and he looks up with a tiny smile.

“Somewhere deep down?” Eiji echoes. “But… how can I…”

“That’s why you feel like something’s wrong, right?” Aslan wrinkles his nose. “Wrong, right. Wrong, right. Weird. But I mean, you don’t know why you feel like it, but you feel it! That means _some_ part of you remembers.”

“Like flying,” Griffin offers. The fire crackles softly as if in response, and a couple of sparks spiral up, dancing on the smoke, until they vanish into the snowy sky.

Aslan nods solemnly. “And if you think you should have stayed with him, I think… he needs that.”

“I don’t want him to be alone,” Eiji agrees, and whines. “But I cannot leave you, either, can I?”

Aslan gives him the same tiny smile he just gave Griffin. “I’ll be okay! I have Griff. And he has me! But Ash was all alone. I think even if you don’t remember everything, if you’re his friend, he’d like to have you there, where he can see you. Even if you can’t think of anything to say.”

“To have me there, where he can see me…”

Eiji _gasps,_ suddenly, like he’s been plunged in a bucket of freezing water, so completely shocked that Griffin whips his head around, certain that the Beast has snuck up on them. But the shadows are mere shadows, and there are no eyes around.

“I remember!” Eiji cries, and flaps his wings, and this time he’s _flying._ “I remember—I remember why—I know why I am here, I—I have to go! I have to go to him! He _can’t_ get on that train!”

“Go,” Griffin encourages. “It’s okay. We have each other, me ‘n’ Aslan. Ash needs you.”

In the distance, there’s the low whistle of a train.

Eiji lets out a soft cry, torn. “I can’t let him get on—I am sorry, I have to leave you, but—please, be safe!”

He beats his wings hard, and in a flurry of motion he’s gone, disappearing into the sky beyond the trees, fleeing back the way they came. Griffin and Ash watch together, until he’s out of sight.

Aslan drops his head against Griffin’s shoulder.

“And then there were two,” Griffin murmurs, and picks up a long branch to poke the fire. Another swirl of sparks goes dancing up into the darkening sky; his hands sting from the slowly-returning sensation, and he just hugs Aslan to himself.

“There were two at the beginning, too.” Aslan pats his cheek with a frigid little hand. “Don’t be sad, Griff! We’re going to go home soon, remember?”

Griffin can only manage a wan smile in answer. “I sure hope we are, bud. Let’s get some rest, okay?”

Aslan nods, huddled under his little cloak. “Okay.”

Griffin sighs and lays down on the cold ground, curling up around him and wishing they at least had blankets. “Good. We’ll… figure out what to do, after we rest a little.”

Several minutes pass, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

Then, Aslan sighs softly. “Griff? Do you think we’re stuck out here forever?”

Yesterday, Griffin would confidently have said _no, of course not!_

Today, with his heart heavy in his chest, Griffin looks around at the woods. The trees may as well have swallowed the two of them up, endlessly stretching in every direction, only broken by towns and cottages here and there. There really is no way home out here, is there?

“We might be,” he admits, very soft, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t even notice the beginnings of reddish-brown roots, starting to curl around him, as he falls asleep.

(Aslan does.)

* * *

“I’m sorry. I think this is all my fault.”

Who is talking? Is that Aslan?

“But you don’t need to be scared, okay, Griff? I’ll fix it! You’ll be home, I promise!”

Is this a dream? It must be, but it’s an unsettling, dark one. Griffin shakes his head, confused, but he’s already forgetting what’s going on, sinking back into slumber.

There’s a tiny kiss to his forehead, a mirror of the ones he gives Aslan. Then the sound of retreating footsteps, and a voice, unfamiliar and deep and terrifying.

_“You’ve done well, Aslan. Thank you. Come, now; we have work to do…”_

Sleep is somewhere safe from it all. Griffin hugs Aslan closer to himself and drifts.

* * *

... _before..._

“Aslan? Are you out here? Come on, it’s dark! We should get going home!”

Griffin walks through the trees, cautious as leaves crunch underfoot. Now where is that candy monster of a brother of his? He took all his trick-or-treat loot and ran off towards the woods, little brat that he is!

“Aslan!”

“Betcha can’t find me!” he hears, coming from somewhere up the hill, and with a fond roll of his eyes, Griffin starts to lightly jog that way, ducking under branches here and there. He can hear Aslan laughing, up ahead somewhere. “Slowpoke Griffin! Gotta be faster than that!”

“Just wait til you crash from your sugar high!” Griffin calls back, though he has to admit it’s a _little_ funny. Aslan is running around out here with a giant fake pumpkin on his head. How is he not getting caught on branches?

Further into the woods a little, Aslan laughs again, and then yelps in alarm. “Eep!”

“Aslan?” Griffin picks up the pace, alarmed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Aslan giggles again. “I tripped on a root.”

“Be more careful!” Griffin scolds. He can see that big orange pumpkin now, disappearing behind a trunk in the dimness, and he laughs to himself as he runs after it. “We’re up near the cliffs! Don’t be clumsy up here!”

Aslan just giggles again, and Griffin hears leaves crunching and twigs snapping as he runs off further.

Griffin catches him just as they break out of the forest onto the asphalt—the old highway that runs through here, up by the edge of the cliffs. They’re not really _cliffs,_ more like really steep hillsides, but everyone in school just calls them _the cliffs_ anyway, and the name stuck; they do make a stunning landscape in daytime, though, with the sun glinting off the bay.

“Gotcha!” He grabs Aslan around the waist and sweeps him off the ground, spinning him once as he shrieks with laughter and drops several chocolate bars from his basket. “You lil _rascal,_ making me trek out all this way.”

Aslan just laughs, obviously very pleased with himself, and then wriggles around. “Griff! Put me down! I dropped my candy!”

“Yeah, yeah, so long as you’re not about to run off again,” Griff warns, but sets him down. Aslan doesn’t run off, just starts picking up his scattered candy bars and chocolates, his big pumpkin head bobbing around in the moonight.

But the light isn’t _just_ moonlight. No, something is getting brighter. Wait—

There’s a car, coming around the bend. In the darkness, the two of them probably aren’t very visible, and Aslan’s in the middle of the road, and _fuck!_

“Aslan!” Griffin cries, and Aslan looks up with alarm just as the headlights appear, and Griffin doesn’t think. He just acts.

He launches himself at Aslan, tackling him out of the way, and the car goes by them with a loud _whoosh!_ and a gust of wind that’s close enough to whip at their clothes. Someone in the car cries out in alarm as the driver slams on the brakes, but Griffin and Aslan are already tumbling, and no no no they’re too close to the edge, and they’re _falling,_ and Aslan screams and grabs at him as Griffin tries to catch him and scrabbles to grab at the hillside, but they’re falling too fast.

And then the ground falls out from under them entirely, and Aslan screams again, wind whipping the words from his mouth.

They hit the water with a shock of _cold_ and—

* * *

Griffin wakes up with a start.

He’s in the woods, but the fire has burned low; did the cold wake him?

God, he was having such a weird dream. Aslan was there, and then the Beast, or… something, and then there were trees, and…

“Aslan,” he murmurs, and opens his eyes. Something feels off, but Aslan is still curled up against his chest—

That’s not Aslan.

That’s a gnarled old tree root.

Tiny vines are wrapped around his ankles and legs, and one around his arm, and with a yelp, Griffin shakes them off, twigs snapping. What the hell? That root wasn’t there before, and—

“Aslan?” He looks around, alarmed. Where’s Aslan? What happened? “Aslan? Where are you? This isn’t funny, please come out!”

There is no answer but the cold wind. The darkness under the trees is too-dark.

“Oh, no. No no no. No, no, no, no—Aslan! _Aslan!”_

Far in the distance, someone is singing.

Griffin kicks dirt over the precious little embers of the fire and begins to run.

* * *

There is something in the woods.

With every step he takes, leaves crunch and twigs snap underfoot, the crackle and gunshots of a warzone. There’s no little hand in his, this time, and god, he misses it. The shadows grow longer, and the clouds are too thick, heavy with snow, to let even a sliver of wan moonlight through. The woods deepen all around, until the knotted wood becomes twisted, laughing faces, and the barren branches are hands, reaching out to grab and hold and imprison.

This, Griffin realizes, is an edelwood grove.

“Aslan!” His breath is loud in his own ears as he runs, panting. “Aslan! Where are you?”

The singing is so near. Where is his brother? He’s not going anywhere without him. What happened—where is he, where is he, _where is he?_

The singing stops.

It’s pitch-black now, save for one small pinprick of light. His heart in his throat, Griffin follows it; twigs and leaves are silent, somehow, as if the unnatural darkness is swallowing all sound.

“Aslan?” he calls, again, but the darkness takes that and twists it and swallows it, too. His heartbeat is loud in his ears.

As he goes around one big tree, he realizes the source of the light: a lantern, like the ones from the house by the mill, but where those lights were wispy and ethereal, this one is a beautiful flame, almost holy in its radiance. It shines, a beacon in the endless night…

…and next to it, slumped, is Aslan.

_NO!_

He’s pale and limp, unmoving, wrapped in branches and roots that have twisted up from the dirt all around him. The brown leaves all lean toward the lantern, as if its light is the only thing sustaining them enough to stay on the sad little branches. The wood itself is a faded reddish-brown, almost like the color of blood, dried and washed out and turned into a tree, and—

It’s just like the innkeeper’s rumor said. Is this… is this truly what the edelwoods are all made of?

Lost souls?

Just like the two of them?

“No, no no no no,” he breathes, and crashes to his knees, grabbing at the branches and vines, pulling and tearing with his bare hands. “No! NO! You can’t have him! _You can’t have him!_ Aslan! Aslan, wake up, _wake up!”_

The darkness… moves.

There’s no other way to put it. The darkness shifts. Deepens, even though it’s already the deepest night that Griffin has ever seen. There is no darkness darker than this.

Without turning, he knows the Beast is behind him.

_“A noble effort, but there is no saving him, little boy.”_

“You did this to him!” Griffin snaps one of the vines, twisting and pulling. It scrapes painfully in his already-raw hands, but it breaks off, and one of Aslan’s arms is freed. “Let him go! Let him go right now!”

_“His body will not last the night. The forest has claimed him.”_

Griffin does turn around, at that, to glare as hard as he can at those eyes. He’s fucking terrified out of his mind, but the worst case scenario—the monster hurting Aslan—has already happened. If it kills him, too, then they’ll at least go out together.

The Beast’s eyes tilt in the darkness, a mockery of a smile. Griffin picks up one of the broken twigs from the edelwood cage around his brother and hurls it at the darkness between the eyes, as hard as he can.

_“Such an attitude. But I can help you.”_

Griffin turns back to trying desperately to break the branches. Another one cracks under his fingers, and Aslan slumps in the cradle of limbs. “You can help me if you’ll let him go!”

_“He will be nothing but a corpse by morning, even if I did. But you can help his soul survive. I have placed his soul in the lantern…”_

His soul?

Is that—

Is that really what this has come to?

Griffin fumbles at one of Aslan’s pale, limp wrists, his hands shaking. But—but there _is_ a pulse there, fluttery and weak but _there,_ and he could nearly sob.

He was warned, wasn’t he? He was warned never to trust the Beast. The innkeeper _said,_ all it does is turn people into trees, and then put them in its lantern, to burn.

…Wait.

A sudden sense of calm comes over him, with that realization; he knows what to do, now. Griffin kicks one of the larger branches holding Aslan’s legs. Kicks it again, and then yanks on it as hard as he can. It cracks, and he twists it until it breaks.

_“This is a fruitless endeavor. He is already gone. Will you not even save his soul? Do you not love him so dearly?”_

“No.”

Only one leg is still trapped, and instead of rubbing his hands raw on any more bark, Griffin gently maneuvers him up, pulling his leg out. Aslan is dead weight in his arms, but he’s breathing; Griffin hefts him close, then turns and looks at the Beast again.

_“I am trying to help you!”_

With Aslan cradled to his side, Griffin picks up the lantern in his free hand, and gently opens the little latch that keeps it shielded from the wind.

“No, you’re not. You never put Aslan’s soul in the lantern. You’ve never put anyone’s soul in the lantern. You just want to keep the lantern lit, don’t you? Because… it’s _your_ soul.”

What happens next is easily the most terrifying thing Griffin has ever seen.

The darkness _converges,_ as the eyes grow red and crazed with malice, and behind that malice _fear._ They distort wildly, and the sound it makes is akin to nails screeching on chalkboard. _“YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE—”_

On the contrary, Griffin knows now. He knows how to go home.

“Stay with me, buddy,” he murmurs to Aslan, and blows out the flame.

* * *

They hit the water with a shock of _cold_ and—

Griffin gasps from the sheer intensity of it, saltwater flooding into his mouth as his head breaks water and he coughs. “Asl—”

Another wave crashes over his head, and only then does instinct take over. He kicks his feet, arms flailing to find the surface again; the water can’t be that deep, they’re just at the base of the hills. Where is Aslan, where is he?

His head break the surface again, and this time he manages to tread water. It’s frigid, and he knows he won’t last long. He has to find Aslan.

“Griffin!” It’s a tiny cry amid the crashing of the waves, but he hears it, and gasping for breath, he turns. Aslan is in the water, floating thanks to his giant foam pumpkin, as he flails around desperately. _“Griffin!”_

“I’m here!” Griffin kicks through the freezing water and swims toward him. “I’m here, I’m here, Aslan—hold on!”

He doesn’t know how he manages it, but with Aslan clutching desperately at his shoulders, he swims them both to shore. He’s a decent swimmer, not particularly strong, and it takes everything in him to keep them from being dashed against the rocks; when his feet finally brush against sand, he nearly sobs from relief.

There are people with flashlights, up on the rocks where they fell. Good, Griffin thinks hazily, exhausted and so, so cold. Aslan probably needs to get to a doctor. Just to make sure he’s okay.

He drags himself onto the beach, helping Aslan; the wind is biting against them, and Griffin stumbles as the adrenaline abruptly leaves him. He falls to his hands and knees in the sand, panting for breath.

“Griffin?” Aslan cries, terrified. “Griffin! Help! Someone _help_ —”

“It’s okay,” Griffin tries to reassure him, but his arms give out instead, and he collapses into the sand as the world spins, stars glimmering high above as Aslan screams, and all goes dark.

* * *

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Griffin groans. What’s that noise? God, his head hurts. He’s so fucking tired—at least he’s somewhere warm, but he’s still cold, the kind of cold that seeps into his bones and makes his body ache. Fucking Halloween weather and bay water—

Wait.

Bay water.

He opens his eyes with a gasp. “Aslan!”

“Griff!” Aslan’s sitting on the side of his bed—his bed? It’s a hospital bed—with wide, teary eyes. He launches himself into Griffin’s lap as soon as Griffin sits up, latching on and sniffling. “You scared me! I thought—I thought you were gonna die!”

What? No. Griffin isn’t gonna die. He’s not about to leave Aslan alone!

There’s a little niggling feeling, like he should remember _something_ about that, about dying, and Aslan being alone, but… god, for some reason all he can think of is a steam engine, and the beating of wings. None of it seems related, and he’s too tired to put it together, so he lets it all go, instead.

“I’m not gonna die on you anytime soon, lil bug,” he promises, instead, and hugs Aslan tight. The beeping, he realizes belatedly, is one of those hospital room machines… whatever it is. Heart monitor? Is that on him? Or… no, is it from one room over?

Ugh. Whatever. His head is fuzzy and he’s cold, but Aslan is alive and here in his arms. He can deal with beeping later.

“C’mere. Your hands are freezing.” He gathers Aslan under the blanket with him, and Aslan snuggles right into his side like a little teddy bear. He’s in hospital clothes—they both are, and Griffin realizes with a pang their Halloween costumes must have gotten soaked, and all of Aslan’s candy is gone. “What happened to your pumpkin?”

Strangely, at that, Aslan shivers and pulls the blanket over his head. “No. Scary.”

“The _pumpkin_ is scary?” Griffin laughs softly and rubs his back. “Oh, bud. It’s okay.”

A doctor comes by, not too long after that, to check them over. They both have hypothermia, but they were found on the beach before it really set in too bad, and they’re allowed to go home, after a final check-up.

Jim Callenreese is surprisingly kind, tucking them both in and even staying instead of going to Jennifer’s for the night. Aslan refuses to sleep in his own room, rather predictably—he’s still shaken by it all, so he crawls into bed with Griff, and it’s not like Griffin minds.

The last memories of the Unknown fade, as they slumber, blissfully unaware. The moon shines overhead, slowly sailing across the star-strewn sky, meandering here and there behind little wisps of cloud.

Somewhere far away, across time and space, deep in a forgotten wood, a bluebird stops being a bluebird.

But that’s not this story. Griffin and Aslan go home, and sleep well, and really, that’s all that we need to have a happy ending... isn’t it?

* * *

.

.

.

.

_Epilogue._

The bluebird-who-is-no-longer-a-bluebird and the boy-who-is-not-on-a-train sit side-by-side on the bench on the platform, watching the river flow.

“I am going to wake up soon,” the not-bluebird says, regret heavy in his voice. “But I do not want to leave you.”

The boy smiles, rueful. “Time is relative, here. Everywhere, I mean, but here, especially. Soon doesn’t necessarily mean soon.”

“Not necessarily, but it might.” The not-bluebird reaches up, strokes the hair back from the boy’s face, and caresses his cheek. His touch is soft, as he guides the boy’s face to look at him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you are.” And oh, how many things that could mean?

No, there is only one. _Here_ is the land between life and death, after all; the boy means that he lingers here because the not-bluebird ended up here. Their souls are intertwined.

“Ash,” the not-bluebird says. His eyes are soft and understanding, and he leans in, presses his lips to the boy’s—Ash’s—cheek. “It was not your fault, my love.”

Ash tilts his head, the rueful smile turning to sorrow. “Wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t.” The not-bluebird is decisive, his voice brooking no argument.

He wraps his arms around Ash’s neck, pulling him into a hug, and for a moment Ash is still in his embrace; then, like he isn’t quite sure how, he hesitantly wraps his arms about him in turn, closing his eyes.

“I am going to wake up soon,” the not-bluebird repeats. “Promise me that you will, too.”

“Eiji,” Ash murmurs, hesitant. “I… was planning to catch the next train.”

“I know what you were planning.” The bluebird-who-isn’t-a-bluebird, Eiji, holds him tighter. “That is why I am asking you to promise me that you will not do that. Promise me that you will wake up. And that you will come find me, when you do.”

A moment of silence, long enough for a heart to break.

Or to heal.

“It won’t be when you expect,” Ash warns. “Time is relative, here.”

“I know.”

“Then if you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“I promise.”

Eiji pulls back from the embrace just enough to look at him. Ash leans in, until their foreheads are pressed together, their noses brushing; there is a holiness in the space in-between, and it brings light to the entire platform where they sit entwined.

“I am going to wake up soon,” the bluebird-who-is-no-longer-a-bluebird murmurs.

The boy-who-is-not-going-to-catch-a-train smiles, softly. “So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> GOD this was a labor of love! thank you so much for reading. train motif was inspired by the song "old black train" from the ost, and ofc title is from "into the unknown". comments are very appreciated because g o d , , , , this fic was an ORDEAL to write!!! ;o;
> 
> find me: [tumblr](https://eijispumpkin.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/songbirdrimi)


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